Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`Neither do I. Yet.'

Tweed walked over to the new wall map of Western Europe Monica had put up. He took a wooden pointer from a drawer to reach the higher sections. As he spoke, the pointer located the towns.

`Tallinn in Estonia, Stralsund and Rostock in East Germany, then Lubeck, Hamburg and Bremen – to name just a few. There were ninety towns in the League at the height of its power.' He turned away from the map. 'And the funny thing is one of my people also used the same word – Hansa.'

Carson uncrossed his ankles, straightened up, suddenly alert. `So maybe your man could tell us something?'

`He's also dead. Murdered in Hamburg. By the Soviets – or their proxies, the East Germans…'

`Looks as though I came to the right place after all. That is stretching coincidence too far – literally. My man is killed in Peshawar, yours in Hamburg – and in both cases the last word they said was Hansa. It couldn't be…'

`Yes, it could.' Tweed replaced the pointer in the drawer, pushed it shut. 'Bernard, I want you to promise me something.

Not one word about this outside this room. Confidential, you said. Now I'm holding you to it. I want your solemn promise.'

`Reluctantly, yes. But I could check the records…'

`Don't! Take no action. I think I may have underestimated my man who died in Hamburg. Incidentally, if you do lay your hands on a consignment the size of one hundred kilos, what precautions do you take?'

`Every precaution possible. It doesn't always work. With the potential profit that amount could bring in you can't trust anyone. Not even inside the Drug Squad, between you and me.'

`How long ago since your chap in Peshawar was killed?'

`Eight weeks ago. To the day. About four weeks ago we began to get reports of the excitement building up in the streets…'

`So we may not have much time left. I'm up against an unknown deadline.'

Thirty-Five

'Better that the nursing sister who attended Dr Berlin thinks you are a German newspaper reporter,' Falken said as he drove along the highway towards Leipzig. 'You remember her name?'

`Karen Piper.'

`Good. You are still alert…'

`Why shouldn't I be?'

`My friend, you are not the only outsider I have escorted in the DDR. Pullach used to send other people – couriers – who had not been here before. Within twenty-four hours we realized they were suffering from battle fatigue. To put it bluntly, under the pressure of being inside enemy territory, their nerve cracked. They became a menace, a danger to Group Five.'

`How did you handle them?'

`Slipped them back across the border immediately. If possible.'

`And if not possible?'

`Our lives were at stake. We had no alternative. Let us leave it at that.'

My God, Newman thought, they had to shoot them, bury them somewhere. He could feel the tension building up inside his stomach. Tight muscles. A slight queasiness. He concentrated on the road ahead.

The modern four-lane highway extended into the distance through open countryside. To left and right there were fields and woods. The sun shone down out of an almost clear sky, but some miles ahead clouds were building up like a storm gathering. The air was humid, oppressive.

The traffic was heavier than Falken had expected. Huge six-and eight-wheel diesel trucks roared past them, belching fumes. Falken kept well under the speed limit, seemed to be in no hurry. On a main highway the limit was 100 kph. Falken was moving at 60 kph. Hence the convoys of heavy stuff thundering past.

`You're playing it safe,' Newman observed. He nodded towards the speedometer. It was the only sign of tension he showed.

`We're early for the appointment with Karen Piper. Mind you, I shall arrive early – to check out the lie of the land.'

`Who does the talking if we're stopped by a patrol car?'

`I was just coming to that. You do. Border Police. That gives you clout. You use it pretty well.'

`But we're so far from any border here…'

`You wouldn't believe the powers that document in your pocket gives you. Special Assignment Unit. In plain clothes. You can go anywhere in the DDR. And you don't have to explain what you're doing. Unless East German Intelligence stops us. One of Wolf's men. Then anything can happen.'

`I'll bluff our way through. But, just supposing I don't?'

`We shoot our way out. No messing. And this is where I turn off this highway, take a roundabout route along country roads before I head back for the highway closer to Leipzig.'

He glanced in his rear view mirror again. He was an excellent driver. Newman had noticed his eyes constantly flickering to that mirror for a fraction of a second. He signalled, swung off the highway on to a hedge-lined, winding lane.

Newman found his stomach muscles relaxing now they were away from the highway. He'd been screwed up, watching all the time in the wing mirror, through the windscreen, for the approach of a patrol car. There was a limit to the number of times you could bluff your way through a road-block, the Vopos in a patrol car. Falken went on talking in his quiet, easy manner.

`We're meeting the Piper woman in a camper parked underneath a complex of main roads. We call it the zig-zag. A smaller version of that freeway complex in Los Angeles we see on TV – Spaghetti Junction.'

`You see things like that on TV?'

`You'd be surprised how many homes have colour television – and their favourite programmes are those from the West. We're not supposed to watch them, but no one cares any more.'

`Sounds a bit public – this camper rendezvous..

`Chosen with care. It provides plenty of escape routes. Use a place out here and where do you run if the Martians arrive? Piper approved – for the same reason. You'll see.'

`And what happens after I've interviewed her?'

`You head straight for freedom. Under Gerda's control. We've been over that. I won't be coming with you. I have another 'job needing urgent attention. Also a man and a girl attract less notice.' They were climbing a steep hill, the view blocked by the crest. 'If we are stopped,' Falken continued, `you'd better know Gerda is travelling on papers in the name Gerda Nowak. She is a secretary at Markus Wolf's headquarters in Leipzig. Normally he operates out of East Berlin, but he's been at his second base for some time. I think I'll leave you to make up your own story about her – should it ever come to that. A spontaneous explanation is often more convincing.'

They drove over the crest and the road dropped down a steep hill. Driving towards them from the other direction was a green car with two men in the front. The car stopped at the bottom of the hill, on the level, blocking the road.

I must be telepathic,' Falken commented with a bleak look. `Trouble ahead. I can smell it…'

`Intelligence.'

The taller of the two men in civilian clothes flashed a folder by the window Newman had lowered. Newman nodded, grasped the handle, opened the door and alighted as the tall Intelligence officer stepped back. Both men in their forties, clad in grey lightweight raincoats, hatless, poker-faced.

Newman left the door wide open, took several paces to one side, which gave Gerda a clear field of fire with her machine-pistol. He hitched up his slacks, glanced beyond the gateway leading to a field. Half a kilometre away an abandoned stone quarry reared, a rusting bulldozer standing amid the pile of rocks at its base. A good place to hide bodies. God, he was becoming as hard as Falken. A few more weeks inside the DDR and he'd become even harder. He spoke calmly as he reached for his folder, one equal talking to another.

`Border Police. And may I see your folder again? Once I was nearly mugged by a bogus Intelligence officer. Thank you…'

They had the look of hardbitten businessmen, out for the last penny. The taller man had a scar down his right eyebrow. The smaller one shuffled his feet impatiently, giving the impression he was a subordinate who left his colleague to do the talking.