Rhinoceros (67 page)

'What is that monster ship?' Paula croaked.

'Ferry from Helsinki, Finland. Once those things are on
the move they can't be stopped for quite a while - due to
their momentum and incredible size.'

Marler appeared, after secreting his Armalite inside his
hold-all. He had scrambled down the stone steps.

'Saw Barton in my cross-hairs. Saw out of the corner
of my eye that leviathan of a ship on top of him. He saw
it too. Made him jerk his rifle too high. Crazy fool was
sailing down the wrong side of the Trave. Heading out for
the Baltic you use the far lane. Coming in, the near lane, as
the ferry did.'

People who had been seated across the road under the canopy had stood up, rushed forward to the river's edge,
staring down. One woman was screaming her head off.

'I think,' said Tweed, standing up, 'we'd better get away
from here before that orange juice arrives. Look at the
ghouls, hoping for bodies in the Trave.'

'I've looked,' Paula and Marler said at the same moment.

'We'll go towards the Baltic,' Tweed decided and started
walking. 'Whoever's meeting us should come that way — if
anyone ever does. Here's Lisa. Don't say anything to her
about the incident.'

'And here's Rondel, running like mad,' Paula said as they entered a narrow part of the street. 'Lord, he can
move.'

'And don't say anything to him,' Tweed whispered
to Paula.

Lisa was walking behind them with Marler. Paula
stopped.

'What about Harry and Pete?'

'Coming up behind us,' Marler called out. 'And there's
Newman, strolling along behind our host.'

Rondel jerked to a halt, gave Paula a warm smile, put his arms round her, kissed her on both cheeks. Then he
spoke to Tweed.

'Sorry I'm late. Had to push my way through a load of
passengers waiting for the steamer to Berg Island . . .'

'Passengers?' queried Paula.

'Tell you all about them later. It's not too far to walk.
Thank heaven, in this heat. Plenty of refreshments on
board. You'll enjoy your trip
..."
As usual he was talking
non-stop, smiling at the same time.'. . . Baltic's like a mill-pond. Not much of a breeze, but there's air-conditioning in
the saloon. We'll have that to ourselves. Can't mix with the
proles, can we? The steamer has powerful engines, moves
fast, gets there quickly. And there it is. Wasn't so far,
was it?' He was holding Paula's arm. 'It is waiting for
us. Captain can't move off without me - no matter how
long he has to wait. . .'

The steamer was quite large, had two funnels and three
decks. It was painted white and had five flags hanging
limply. Not even the hint of a breeze.

'Why five different flags?' Paula asked.

'Germany, Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Finland. I'll explain why when we're comfortable in the saloon. Let me
escort you on board.'

He still had hold of her arm as they crossed a wide
railed gangplank onto the deck. The crowd of passengers above them were peering down, probably wondering who
the honoured guests were. Rondel opened a door and Paula walked into a luxurious saloon, empty except for
a white-coated waiter.

The others followed her, the gangplank was hauled on
board, mooring ropes removed, the steamer began to move up the outer reaches of the Trave. As Rondel was releasing
her arm she glanced up at him. His skin was tanned darker
than it had been in Hamburg. He wore a smart white jacket
and trousers and a sailor's peaked cap. She thought he
looked extraordinarily handsome.

She had a shock after the steamer left the quay and
moved closer to the Baltic. Going over to a window she
looked out at the last of Traverminde, at a tall white block
of a hotel, the Maritim. Standing on the shore was a tall
plump man wearing a straw hat. Oskar Vernon. He had
a satisfied expression on his brown face. That was when she began to worry.

CHAPTER 40

Thunder, in his suite in
Inselende,
on the island of Sylt,
was becoming angry. He had tried four times to call
Barton without getting any response. In desperation he
called Oskar on his mobile.

'Is that Oskar?'

'Yes.'

'What is your surname?'

'Oskar Vernon, for God's sake. I can recognize your
voice so why can't you recognize mine?'

'All right, all right. Has anything happened to Tweed?
I can't contact Barton.'

'You sound worried. Quite unnecessary. I saw him go aboard a ship with his whole team. The ship is sailing to
an island far out in the Baltic. It will be his last voyage.'

'Are you sure?'

'No, I'm not sure.' Oskar paused, to let Thunder sweat.
'I am absolutely certain, positive. The world will never see
him again. He will simply disappear.'

'You mean he will be dead?'

'How many ways do I have to explain it? He will be dead
—
kaput,
as the Germans say. I can phrase it in French and
Spanish, if you like.'

'That won't be necessary . . .'

Thunder closed the conversation. He wished that Oskar would show him more respect. But he felt like celebrating.
He poured himself another large tot of brandy.

* * *

Inside the saloon aboard the steamer Paula was sitting on
a leather sofa with its back to the beautiful panelled wall.
She sat close to Tweed and they were on their own. As Tweed would have instructed, his team was spread out in
the large saloon.

A distance away Lisa was talking animatedly to Nield.
He seemed to hang on her every word. Newman was
chatting to Butler and Rondel at the far end of the saloon. Marler, typically, sat by himself close to the door, gazing
round, apparently idly.

'I saw Oskar on the quayside as we were leaving,' Paula said in a low voice. 'He looked very pleased with himself,
as though everything was going according to plan. As I was turning away he
even gave the steamer a little wave
of his hand. I didn't like that.'

'Well, at least we know where he is. And he's not on the
ship,' Tweed replied reassuringly.

Paula lapsed into silence. She had an awful feeling that they were trapped. She found it difficult to keep still. Get
ting up, she stared out of a window. Rondel joined her.

'When do we see Berg Island?' she enquired.

'Soon after we can no longer see the German shore. It
is very distant now.'

'Can we see any shore from the island?'

'No. Perhaps I should explain to Tweed and yourself how Milo came to buy the island.'

He guided her back to the sofa where Tweed was sitting,
placed himself between them. On tables there were the
remains of sandwiches, coffee pots and cups, buckets of
ice containing champagne bottles. Paula had eaten a few
sandwiches and had drunk only water.

'Many years ago,' Rondel began, 'Berg Island was dis
puted, that is, its ownership, by Germany, Sweden, Den
mark, Finland and even Norway. The trouble was, it is so
far out it wasn't near the coastal waters of any of those
nations. They just didn't want one of the others to have
it. Milo heard about the dispute, visited each capital, put
a plan to them. He suggested paying each of them just
enough to make them feel agreeable. The island would
pass into his hands. At their request, he agreed tourists
could visit Berg — but only about a quarter of the island.
And they would have to board the steamer at Travemunde.
He even paid for the steamer - to give him more control.
Hence the tourists who came with us.'

'How long does the agreement last?' asked Tweed.

'Until the end of next month. Then no more tourists
and Berg is ours for ever.'

'Milo is clever,' Tweed commented. 'Do any shipping
routes pass near here?'

'None.'

Rondel stood up, smiled down at Paula, asked her to come with him.

'Why?' she wanted to know.

'To see the island. Look out of the window. Germany is gone, can't be seen. Follow me.'

Tweed, although not invited, accompanied them. Ron
del led them out into the enclosed corridor outside the
saloon, walked a short way, turned into a passage crossing
to the port side. He gestured towards a large window,
stood back.

Paula gazed in awe. Less than half a mile away a
mountain seemed to rise out of the placid sea. It was unexpectedly green and near the summit was p'erched a
massive castle. Beside it and rising higher than the summit was a large square chimney-like structure of stone. As they
came closer she saw palm trees and huge cacti. Nearby
were large cones of glass.

'It looks like a tropical paradise,' she said dreamily. 'But
how do tropical things survive the winter?'

'Milo's idea. Those cones of perspexhave heaters inside
them. When the temperature drops the guards lift the
cones and place them over the palms and cacti. Then
we turn on the heaters.'

'The guards?' she queried, looking at him.

'Vandals occasionally try to come ashore. The guards have loaded rifles, fire over their heads.'

'Where do you get guards willing to live such a lonely
life?'

'They're Slovaks. They know just enough English for
us to give them orders. I'd better go - we'll soon be
landing.'

'Paula,' Tweed said quietly when they were alone. 'You
must always stay by my side from now on. Always.'

'This island worries you?'

'Just a precaution . . .'

When the steamer had berthed at a quay they had to wait as the tourists were escorted ashore. In several languages they
heard Rondel giving them instructions. They must keep to
the paths marked with arrows. On no account must they
wander into areas marked
Verboten.

He led them off the steamer up a flight of steps that ended at the face of the mountain wall, rising sheer up above them. Paula looked up and felt a twinge of vertigo. With a flourish Rondel showed them wide double doors let into the base of the cliff. He pressed four figures in a combination box. She watched carefully. The doors opened and revealed an elevator the size of a cargo lift. All the walls were covered with mirrors, the floor had a deep pile carpet. It reminded her of the elevator in a five-star hotel. They all went inside and had plenty of room. The doors closed, the elevator began a slow ascent.