Colin Forbes - Double Jeopardy

Claire ran forward, steadied herself on the slope and checked Hagen's neck pulse as Martel came up behind her. Standing up she looked at the Englishman, shaking her head.

'He's dead. What do we do now?'

`Get him back to civilisation and contact Stoller or Dorner at once. I have to find a safe phone to call Tweed.'

They reached police headquarters in Lindau with the body concealed in the back of the car under Martel's raincoat. Dorner gave them the news without preamble.

`Erich Stoller left a message strictly for your ears – he flew to Paris for a security conference. 1 will make arrangements about Hagen – Stoller will want him sent by special ambulance to a morgue in Munich. As to making a phone call to London which can't be intercepted, the answer is the Post Office…'

Dorner drove them there himself. They were closing the doors when the German gently pushed them open and escorted his two companions inside.

A few words from Dorner persuaded the switchboard operator to call the London number. Martel first tried the Maida Vale flat and was relieved when he heard Tweed's voice which sounded weary. The voice changed pitch when Tweed realised who was calling. He activated the recording machine, rushed through the identification procedure and spoke before Martel could say any more.

`Operation Crocodile, Keith. You're standing in the middle of it. Look at a map of southern Germany through half-closed eyes – concentrate on the shape of Lake Konstanz. The damned thing is just like a crocodile- jaws open to the west with the two inlets, Uberlingersee and Untersee

'That confirms my data – something is scheduled to happen in Bavaria. Reinhard Dietrich's nephew, Werner Hagen, talked before he left us permanently…

Crouched over the table in his flat Tweed gripped the receiver more tightly. Events were piling on top of each other – always the most delicate and dangerous phase in an operation. He listened as Martel continued.

'One of the four VIP's aboard the Summit Express is scheduled for assassination on the train. Do you read me

'Of course I do.' Tweed's voice and manner had never been calmer. `Give them numbers – starting geographically from west to east. Which number is the target…'

'Informant didn't know…'

'At least we're alerted. Aboard the train – I've got that. Identity of assassin?'

The question Martel was dreading. Would Tweed think he had gone off his rocker? He took a deep breath, thankful that Dorner had stayed with the switchboard operator so no one could overhear this call.

`I'm convinced – and so is my colleague that this next bit of information provided by Hagen is genuine. You have to trust my judgement…'

'Get on with it, man…'

'The killer is one of the four security chiefs who will be guarding the VIP's. And, before you ask, not a damned clue as to who is the rotten apple. I'd better get off the line, hadn't I?'

'1 consider that a sensible suggestion…'

Tweed had the devil of a time, almost the worst few hours he could remember. He found a cab quickly to take him to Park Crescent, but then his problems were only beginning. That supercilious careerist, Howard, had flown to the security meeting in Paris without telling anyone where the conference was being held. Supercilious careerist? It suddenly occurred to him that Howard was one of the four prime suspects…

Never averse to using unorthodox methods, Tweed was careful to follow protocol on this occasion. He knew Sir Henry Crawford, the British Ambassador in Paris, but his first move was to call a friend at the Foreign Office.

'I have spoken to Sir William Crawford,' he announced when he was seated in an uncomfortable armchair. This statement formed a bridge between the Ambassador in Paris and his contact – across which the contact was compelled to walk.

'What is the message?' the other man in the room enquired.

'It was agreed I should present that in isolation to the cipher clerk on duty. I hope you don't mind?'

Tweed was at his meekest, most concerned with not offending the august institution inside whose portals he had been privileged to enter. This was unusual – for someone outside the Foreign Office to use its private code. Tweed employed the weapon of silence, adjusting his glasses while the other decided whether he could see any way out. He couldn't.

'Come with me,' he said, a chilly note infusing his tone.

Ten minutes later the signal was on its way to Paris. Other than Tweed, the only person who knew its contents was the cipher clerk. He would reveal it to no one. Tweed sighed with relief as he hailed yet another cab in Whitehall, gave the Park Crescent address and sank back into the seat.

Low cunning had won the day. The Ambassador himself would know the contents – should any witness ever be needed that the signal had been sent. And the Ambassador was personally delivering the message to Howard in the conference room. That would force Howard to read out the warning to the other three security chiefs.

'I wish I could be there to study their faces when that message is read out,' Tweed reflected as the cab proceeded up Charing Cross Road. 'One of those four men will be shaken to the core.

It could be any one of the four. You'll have to track through their dossiers back over the years…'

Tweed gave the instruction to McNeil as they strolled together in Regent's Park after the clammy heat of the day. It was still light, the trees were in full foliage, the grass had a springy rebound which Tweed loved. Everything was perfect – except for the time-fuse problem he must solve.

'O'Meara, Stoller and Flandres

'Don't forget Howard,' Tweed said quickly.

'What am I looking for?' McNeil enquired with a note of sharp exasperation.

'A gap.' Tweed paused under a tree and surveyed the expanse of green. 'A gap in the life – in the records – of one of those four trusted men. Maybe as little as two months. Time unaccounted for. He will have been trained behind the Iron Curtain – I'm sure of that. This man was planted a long time ago…'

'Checking Howard's dossier will be tricky…'

'You'll need cover – a reason why you're consulting all these files from Central Registry. I'll think of something…'

He resumed his walk, his shoulders hunched, a faraway look in his eyes. 'The funny thing, McNeil, is I'm certain we've already been given a clue – damned if I can put my finger on it…'

`Tim O'Meara won't be any easier than Howard to check – he's only been head of the President's Secret Service detachment for a year.'

'Which is why I'm taking Concorde to Washington tomorrow if I can get a seat. 1 know somebody there who might help. He doesn't like O'Meara. A little prejudice opens many doors…'

'Howard will want to know why,' she warned. 'The expense of the Concorde ticket will be recorded by Accounts…'

'No, it won't. I'll buy the ticket out of my own pocket. There is still something left from my uncle's legacy. I'll be away before Howard returns. Tell him I've had a recurrence of my asthma – that I went down to my Devon cottage..:

'He'll try and contact you..'

'About my signal via the Ambassador?' Tweed was amused. 'I've no doubt when he returns his first job will be to storm into my office. Make it vague – about my trip to the cottage. I felt I just had to get out of London. It will all fit,' he remarked with an owlish expression. 'He'll think I'm dodging him for a few days. He'll never dream I've crossed the Atlantic.'

McNeil stared straight ahead. 'Don't look round – Mason is behind us. He's pretending to take that damned dog of his fora walk…'

Tweed paused, took off his glasses, polished them and held them up as though checking his lenses. Reflected in the spectacles was the image of Howard's lean and hungry-looking deputy recently recruited from Special Branch. He also had stopped by a convenient tree which his Scottie at the end of a leash was investigating.