Colin Forbes - Double Jeopardy

'Why Zurich? I did notice a first-class ticket from Munich by train to Zurich -and another from Lindau to Munich, but…'

'This little scrap of paper. Go on, have a really good look at it.'

Tweed examined it under a magnifying glass. It was some kind of ticket which carried the printed legend VBZ Zuri Linie. The words RENNWEGIAUGUST had been punched in purple on the ticket together with the price 0.80.

'From the last time I was in Zurich I'm sure you're holding a tram ticket,' Martel explained. 'A tram whose route takes it along Bahnhofstrasse – Rennweg is a side street running off Bahnhofstrasse. Warner travelled about inside the city. Why? Where to? He never wasted time.'

Tweed nodded agreement, unlocked a drawer and brought out a file. From inside he produced a tiny black notebook and thumbed through the pages. Then he waved the key he had used.

'I suppose you know Howard waits until everyone has gone home in the evening and then prowls – hoping to find something he hasn't been told about? He spends more time spying on his own staff than on the opposition. Still, it will help to keep his hand in…'

'You're just about to play your strongest card,' Martel observed. 'You're enjoying the anticipation. Could I now see what you hold in the way of aces?'

'It came with Warner's possessions Stoller flew to me with such commendable speed.' Tweed riffled the pages of the tiny notebook. 'Only I know Warner carried two notebooks -a large one inside his breast pocket, which is missing. Presumably filched by the swine who mutilated him. That was full of meaningless rubbish. This little fellow he kept in a secret pocket Stoller himself found when he flew to Lindau – or the nearest airstrip – when he heard from Dorner of the Water Police.'

'Am I to be allowed to see it?'

'You have a viper's tongue, Mr Martel.' Tweed handed o'er the notebook. The trouble is the jottings in it don't make sense.'

Martel went through the pages. The references seemed disjointed. Hauptbahnhof; Munich… Hauptbahnhof, Zurich… Delta. Centralhof Bregenz. Washington, DC, Clint Loomis… Pullach, BND… Operation Crocodile.

'Charles

They had always called him Charles. Warner was the kind of man they would never dream of calling Charlie; he would have resented it.

'Charles,' Martel repeated, 'seems to have been fixated on the main stations – the Hauptbahnhofs in Munich and Zurich. Why? And if the note sequence means anything Delta is somehow linked with Zurich, which is odd, wouldn't you say?'

'Delta is the official neo-Nazi party with candidates standing in the coming Bavarian state elections,' Tweed remarked. 'But it also works underground. Rumour has it Delta cells are operating in north-east Switzerland between St. Gallen and the Austrian border. Ferdy Arnold of Swiss counter-espionage is worried…'

'Enough to give us support?' Martel enquired.

'At arm's length. You know the Swiss policy of neutrality so they feel they have to be careful…'

'With that bunch of thugs? Look what they did to Warner. And who is Clint Loomis – Washington, DC?'

'I can't fathom that reference.' Tweed leaned back and swivelled his chair through small arcs. 'Clint is an old friend of mine. Ex-CIA. Kicked out by Tim O'Meara, now chief of the Secret Service detachment which will protect the US President aboard the Summit Express to Vienna. Makes no sense…'

`Who provides most of the funds for this link-up with the BND if Howard is against it?'

`Erich Stoller of the BND – and he has plenty of money at his disposal. Delta is scaring Bonn…'

`So Charles, being the secretive type he was, could have flown on a quick trip to Washington from Munich without your knowing?'

`Yes, I suppose so.' Tweed sounded dubious. 'I don't see why.'

`But we don't see anything yet, do we? Least of all what Warner found out that provoked his cold-blooded murder.' He checked the notebook again. `Centralhof. That rings a bell.'

Tweed stirred in his chair and the expression behind his spectacles went blank. Which meant, Martel knew from experience, he was going to be told something he wouldn't like. He lit another cigarette and clamped his teeth on the holder.

`You at least have some help on this thing, Keith,' Tweed said cheerfully, `Ferdy Arnold put his best operative at the disposal of Warner and that operative may have more to tell you. Outside of his killers, she may have been the last person to see Warner alive…'

'She?'

'The pronoun denotes a woman. Claire Hofer. Her mother was English, her father Swiss – and one of Ferdy's best men, which is how she came to join the Swiss Service. She lives at Centralhof 45 in Zurich. Hence the reference, I presume…'

'Except that Warner seems to have used his secret notebook for suspect factors…'

`You may need all the help you can get…'

'All the help I can trust..

`She could be a major asset,' Tweed persisted.

'You do realise,' Martel began vehemently, 'that Warner was betrayed by someone who knew he was making the crossing to Switzerland – by someone he trusted. And tell me again why Stoller asked for outside help.'

'Because he thinks the BND may have been infiltrated. You will find an atmosphere of suspicion everywhere you go. And with the Summit Express leaving Paris at 2335 hours on Tuesday June 2 you have exactly seven days to crack this mystery.'

Wednesday May 27

Will Mr Keith Martel bound for Geneva please report immediately to the Swissair reception desk…

Martel was inside Heathrow on his way to the final departure lounge when the message came over the Tannoy. He went back down the stairs slowly and paused where he could see Swissair. Only when two more passengers had called at the reception desk did he wander over.

The Swissair girl told him he was wanted urgently on the phone and left him as he picked up the receiver, fuming. It was Tweed. His voice held that quality of detached control which meant he was alarmed. They went through the identification routine and then Martel quietly exploded.

`What the hell do you mean broadcasting my name so everyone in the bloody terminal can hear…'

'I did change the destination to Geneva. Didn't they…' 'They did. Thank you for that small consideration. I now have ten minutes to board my flight…'

'My office was bugged – while we were talking yesterday. About Delta, the lot…'

'Where are you calling from.'

'A phone booth at Baker Street station, of course. You don't imagine I'm such a damned fool as to call from the building, do you? I found the bloody thing purely by chance. The cleaning woman had left a note that my main light bulb had gone. checked it – the bug was inside the shade…'

'So anyone could have overheard our conversation, could have taped it, could know where I'm going and why?'

'I thought you ought to know – before you boarded the plane.'

Tweed sounded genuinely concerned. Unusual for Tweed to display any emotion.

'Thanks,' Martel said shortly. 'I'll keep my eyes open…' 'Probably it's the Zurich end you should watch. A reception committee could be waiting for you…'

'Thanks a million. I must go now…'

The Swissair flight departed on time at t i to hours. In London it had been 50? F. As they lost height over Switzerland Martel, who had a window seat, watched the saddle-back ridge of the Jura mountains which he felt he could reach down and touch. The plane had come in over Basle and headed east for Zurich.

As the machine tilted the most spectacular of views was framed in a window on the other side of the plane, a sunlit panorama of the snowbound Alps. Martel picked out the savage triangle of the Matterhorn, a shape not unlike Delta's badge. Then they landed.

At Kloten Airport, ten kilometres outside Zurich, a wave of heat enveloped him as he disembarked. 5o? F in London; 75? F in Zurich. After Heathrow it seemed unnaturally quiet and orderly. When he had passed through Customs and Passport Control he started looking for trouble.