Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`Not conclusive. Women have places on their person where they can conceal twenty banknotes. Inside her tights is one place.'

`The next one we visited was Lindemann,' Tweed said as he saw in his mind their entering the lodge at the corner of the mews. 'Don't think there was anything there…'

`Except dusty tomes,' Monica commented caustically.

`Just a minute! Don't say anything. There was something. I remember Diana suggested she'd like to see his kitchen. They went in together and were alone for quite several minutes. When Diana came out she had that handbag tucked under her arm. That money could have been handed to her then.'

`What about Hugh Grey?'

Eyes still closed tightly, Tweed moved in his mind to Hawkswood Farm. Hugh bustling down the weed-strewn garden path to greet them, Paula staying at the door. The big sitting-room, the dyke rising up in the distance.

`Grey took her for a walk. Quite a long one while I chatted with Paula. He could easily have handed her the wad while they were outside.'

`That leaves Dalby…'

`Who took her outside to look at the back garden while I stayed inside. Another opportunity.'

`So any of them could have handed her the dibs. Back to square one. What was Diana's impression of them? Like some coffee? I made some just before you came in. It's in the thermos.'

`Yes, please.'

He went on talking while Monica opened the top drawer of one of the steel filing cabinets, took out two brown mugs, the thermos and a carton of milk.

`She loved Harry, thought he was great fun…'

`She has good taste.'

`She even liked Lindemann, which surprised me. Hugh Grey she didn't like at all. The idiot made a pass at her while they were out walking..

`Should have been Harry. That's his prerogative.' She put a paper place mat on Tweed's desk, perched the mug on top. `There you are. Black as sin. That leaves Dalby.'

`She admired him. Said he was dedicated. As for his attitude to women, she thought it was take-them-or-leave-them. Work came first.'

`She's shrewd as well as a man-eater. Don't like the sound of her at all.'

`Why a man-eater?'

`From what you've said she had them all dancing round her at the end of a string. A man's woman. Other women probably hate her guts. Which means they wish they had her power over men. Why is she so important? You've watched over her like a mistress ever since she arrived…'

`Because she's a witness.' Tweed suddenly jumped up from behind his desk. 'God! What a fool I've been. I've shown her to all of them – and one of them is Janus. She needs round-the-clock protection. Get Pete Nield on the phone for me…'

`At this hour? He'll be asleep in his flat at Highgate…'

`I said get him on the phone! Tell him to drive down here the moment he's dressed. I'll be waiting for him.'

`Anything you say. My, she really is something, this Diana…'

Tweed was agitated. Monica watched him as she made the call to Nield. He prowled restlessly round the office. He pulled the flaps out of his jacket pocket, straightened them. He clapped the palms of his hands against his backside. He fiddled with his tie. Couldn't keep still.

She finished the brief call, put down the phone and tried to calm him by talking.

`Nield is on his way. Expects to be here inside thirty minutes. No traffic on the roads at this hour. Now, did you notice anything significant during your visits? You wanted to see them on their home ground.'

`Yes, I did. A landing-stage projecting into The Wash. It had recently been reinforced with fresh timber. Then Clematis Cottage. Masterson loathes the sea. I went to the lavatory, opened the window. Leaning against a shed with other rubbish was a ship's wheel. Not ten minutes' drive away I found a large power cruiser called Nocturne. Chopin composed nocturnes…'

`I do know that…'

`No one was about. I climbed aboard, peered inside the wheelhouse. The vessel had what looked like a brand new wheel. In Lindemann's bathroom I opened a wall cupboard. There was a bottle of sable hair colourant. He doesn't drink. In a cupboard in his sitting-room I found half a glass of Scotch. At Dalby's place I found nothing…'

`Thank God for that. My head's spinning…'

`Except in the kitchen. Dalby had been slicing French beans. No sign of the knife. That's it.'

`My, we have been a busy little bee. Might I enquire how all those different things link up?'

`I've no idea…'

`So I might not enquire. Drink your coffee. Nield will roll in soon now.'

`You asked how these things link up. That's the point. I'm convinced there's a link missing.'

`Wouldn't it be strange if Bob Newman supplied the missing link?'

It was 1 a.m. Moscow time. Inside his large office in the four-storey building visitors to the Kremlin never see, Mikhail Gorbachev stood staring at General Vasili Lysenko. He wore a smart grey two-piece suit, a white shirt, a red tie.

His large thick-fingered hands rested splayed on the conference table which separated him from his visitor who stood stiff as an automaton. Gorbachev's large rounded head was stooped, his lips pouched. A distant bell chimed once.

`I had you flown here at short notice from Leipzig,' Gorbachev began in his quick, choppy way of speaking, 'because the consignment of heroin for England has now reached Leningrad. Ready for shipment. The largest amount of heroin ever transported as one consignment my advisers tell me. Five hundred kilos.'

`It is enormous…'

`Like your responsibility for seeing it arrives safely. This will do more to demoralize the population of that island than a dozen atom bombs. You understand the weight of your task?'

`Yes, general Secretary…'

`The English are now alert to the heroin peril. Any attempt to move this massive consignment through the normal channels would fail. They watch the airports, the seaports. So, we use the entirely novel route you have devised.'

`Balkan will not fail us…'

`He had better not fail you!' Gorbachev corrected.

As he spoke he hammered his clenched fist on the polished surface of the table, then began moving about the room, his right hand stressing his words with hard chopping movements.

Lysenko listened with a sense of fear mingled with awe. The General Secretary was an overpowering mixture of physical and mental dynamism. He exuded sense of purpose, supremely certain of the direction in which he was moving.

`While I talk peace the demoralization of the West must be accelerated. Heroin is the main weapon, England the main target.' Gorbachev swung his bulky figure through a half-circle, suddenly facing the other man. He gave a broad smile, throwing his visitor off balance. 'Of course, you have my full confidence, Lysenko.'

`Thank you..

`Of course we know at the moment the London Central Drug Squad is concentrating on Holland, the chief continental point of departure for drugs from South America bound for England.'

`That is true.'

Lysenko was again startled by Gorbachev's grasp of details. As soon as this new sun had risen over the Kremlin Lysenko had realized the way to deal with him was tell the truth. It was this realization which had kept him in his present post as a general in the GRU, Soviet Military Intelligence, when many of his old colleagues had been shoved into the waste bin of history.

`So,' Gorbachev continued, his expression now grim, 'they will not be expecting the consignment by the new route. And not a word about it to Markus Wolf.'

`Really? He would resent it if he found he was being excluded..

`Exclude him. Wolf is a monument now. Almost thirty years at his present task. He may be Deputy Minister for State Security in the DDR. Who cares? A monument,' he repeated. `I've had to shift them all over the Motherland. Men who have grown slack and comfortable, who thought they were indispensable. I dispensed with them.'