Marler was still staring fixedly behind Bernie. The thug was beginning to notice this. Also the fact that Marler kept smiling bothered him. You don't keep smiling when you're expecting a bullet in the chest. Marler nodded his head.

'Take him, Mike,' he called out.

Bernie swung round, saw there was no one behind him, turned back to shoot. In the two seconds it had taken him to check his rear Marler jumped on to the top step, dived sideways behind a concrete pillar. Crouched down, he found himself hemmed in by a collection of large, filled rubbish sacks with a sheaf of folded spares under his knees. Obviously when it became daylight the dustcart was due.

Jumping up the last few steps, Bernie stopped, swivelled the muzzle of his gun to where Marler crouched. A shot rang out. A red spot like an Eastern caste mark appeared on his forehead. Still gripping the Walther automatic in his hand, Marler watched Bernie collapse backwards, sprawling down the top steps.

Standing tip, he walked down a couple of steps, checked the neck pulse. Nothing. Marler then became very active. He took one of the large spare sacks, walked down the two steps to where Bernie's head rested. He eased the head inside the sack first, then manoeuvred the shoulders inside. He had trouble getting the arms in but he managed it. Then he lifted the sack carefully and the rest of the corpse slithered in, leaving s.p.a.ce at the top.

'Lucky he was a small man,' Marler said to himself.

He used a handkerchief to pick up Bernie's Beretta pistol, which still had his fingerprints on it, then dropped it into the sack. He next went back to the piled sacks, opened one, took out rubbish, stuffed it inside Bernie's sack. Fastening it, he heaved it over his shoulders, dumped it with the other sacks awaiting collection. His last precaution was to use his handkerchief to remove the few spots of blood on the steps.

For the third time he glanced quickly round the concrete villas No sign of lights, of life. It would be daylight soon. If anyone had heard the shot they'd probably thought it was a car backfiring.

He hurried down the steps. At the bottom he turned left and soon saw a main highway. He guessed that would to the route they'd take when they left Freiburg. Then he saw what he was looking for -- a street drain.

s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up the blood-stained handkerchief, he pushed it down into the drain. He had once bought it while in Berlin, as one of a set. There was no way it could be traced back to him.

Turning back, he walked down Munzga.s.se to the hotel. He entered by the door leading into the restaurant.

Five of the thugs were still seated in their booth - with the thin man Marler had picked out as the boss. Then he , recalled Keith Kent's description of the man with Ronstadt in the Zurcher Kredit Bank. A tall thin man with a hard, thin bony face. The description fitted. And Newman had identified him as Vernon Kolkowski. Vernon had two empty steins in front of him and was halfway through a third. He was glowering when Marler walked in. His expression changed to one of disbelief when he saw Marler.

'Goodnight,' said Marler as he pa.s.sed close to their table. 'Or, rather, good morning.'

Vernon's glower returned. He said nothing as Marler walked on, went up the curving staircase to his room. As soon as he was inside, the door relocked, Marler sat on his bed. He took from his pocket the small mobile, pressed numbers without consulting the piece of paper Tweed had provided with the number of the Colombi. When the night operator came on he asked to be put through to Tweed.

'Marler here. There were twelve little black men. Now there are eleven. And I'm coming to the Colombi - to attach another tracking gizmo to Ronstadt's Audi. Earlier in Basel he had a Citroen.'

'Thank you for keeping me informed...'

Tweed, still up, making notes on a pad, knew what Marler had meant. The twelve men in black Audis had now been reduced to eleven.

34.

The repercussions of Marler's encounter with Bernie Warner were far more widespread than he could ever have antic.i.p.ated. Jake Ronstadt, unable to sleep in his luxurious bedroom at the Colombi, was still up long after a grey and gloomy dawn light had spread over Freiburg. He sat in a chair, wearing an oriental dressing gown with dragons rampant. He was trying to make up his mind whether to move on to Hollental that day, or whether to wait for twenty-four hours.

On the one hand he was very short of time. On the other he knew his troops were fatigued, and by no means at their fighting best. The short, barrel-chested figure wedged in the armchair was also not in good shape. The fact that he had been drinking generous slugs of the precious bourbon he kept in a hip flask had not helped.

He'd had a shock earlier when, hidden in the bar, he'd seen Tweed, Newman and Paula Grey sitting with Sharon and Sir Guy. Where were Tweed's other men? He'd expected they would all head for the Schwarzwalder Hof. They appeared to have split into two forces, which worried him.

He was helping himself to another slug of bourbon when his phone rang. He clambered out of his chair, picked up the instrument.

'Yeah?'

'It's Vernon, Chief. We have a problem.'

'That I could do without. What problem? Spit it out.'

'Bernie has gone missin' - we've looked everywhere and he's just gone...'

'I don't believe you!' Ronstadt yelled down the phone.

'He has to be with you. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, he's the printer. I need him as a double-check.'

'I don't get that.'

'You're not supposed to. What the h.e.l.l are you talkie' about?' he raved. 'Maybe you'll get around to tellin' me what's goin' on.'

'Give me a chance, Chief. We're eatin' in the restaurant here. Bernie recognized one of Tweed's men. Saw him comin' out of the Three Kings place. I thought it was a good moment to cut down the opposition. This guy goes for a walk in the night, I send Bernie after him. The guy comes back! About half an hour later. Bernie never comes back.'

'You shouldn't have sent Bernie, you friggin' idiot.' 'He was the one who recognized him.'

'You said you'd looked everywhere. What in h.e.l.l does that mean?' Ronstadt snarled.

'Six of us went out. I went myself. Brad nearly got knocked down by a dustcart collectin' rubbish.'

'Pity you weren't knocked down.' Ronstadt took a deep breath to get himself under control. 'Here's what you all do for today. Nothin' at all. Get it? You stay in your rooms and wait there for me to call.'

'OK, Chief. We need the rest.'

'Stick your rest. Why you had to send the printer on a job like that I don't know. Bernie was important. A d.a.m.n sight more important than you!' he shouted, then slammed down the phone.

He went back to his armchair, slumped into it. He had a lot to think about. Should he try and contact Charlie? No! Charlie would crucify him. He had a deadline to keep and, in his fury, he had thrown away twenty-four hours. Unusually for Ronstadt, he wasn't sure what to do. His mind whirled. Should he ask Charlie to find a subst.i.tute for Bernie? No! Even if he risked Charlie's wrath there wasn't time. He reached for his hip flask, then left it in his hip pocket.

He'd have a bath, get dressed, then go down for breakfast. He might get an inkling of what Tweed was up to. Then he had a bright idea. They'd leave for Hollental in the middle of the night. The decision taken, he felt. better. He decided a shower might help to clear his brain. He had the mother of all headaches.

Paula woke, felt her normal alert self. She checked the time. It was only 9.30 am. Maybe they would still be serving breakfast in the dining room. She disliked room service. An American habit. Showering and dressing quickly, she went down and paused at the entrance. They were still serving breakfast.

Ed Osborne, big in a thick white polo-necked sweater and grey slacks, sat at a table by himself from where he could survey the whole room. At a remote corner table Sharon also sat by herself, eating b.u.t.tered toast with one hand, marking up a file with the other. That woman never stops working, Paula thought. Osborne saw her, looked at her with a forbidding expression, then bent his head over a newspaper.

At another table for four Tweed sat with Newman. He caught her eye, gestured for her to join them. She sat down so she was facing the distant Sharon.

'When I came in,' Tweed said, 'I went over to her and suggested she'd probably sooner be on her own at breakfast. She thanked me for my intuition and consideration.'

'She's a slave-driver,' said Newman, 'the slave being herself. We didn't expect you down so early. You got some sleep?'

'I crashed out. It may not have been for long but I feel I've had the best sleep for days.' She looked up as a waiter stood by her. 'I'll have coffee, a gla.s.s of orange juice, and also croissants. Nothing else, thank you.' She looked at Tweed. 'Any idea of what we're doing today?'

'None at all. I'm waiting for Marler to press the b.u.t.ton. Look who's just arrived.'

She stared at the entrance. Jake Ronstadt was standing there as she had, scanning the restaurant. She was staring because of the way he was dressed. Granted it was breakfast time, so she wouldn't have expected guests to dress up. But Ronstadt was wearing a brown leather jacket, heavy brown leather trousers and thick-soled shoes. Over his arm he carried a black overcoat and his left hand clutched a baseball cap.

'Looks as though he could be leaving,' Paula whispered. 'Oh, Lord, I think he's coming over to us.'

Before he started moving towards their table Sharon had glanced up, then immediately looked down at her file. Osborne, also, had seen his arrival. He gave the newcomer one bleak stare, then resumed reading his newspaper.

'Hi, folks,' Ronstadt greeted them. 'What a big surprise. You're a long way from Goodfellows back in London,' he said addressing Paula. He held out his large hand and she felt compelled to shake it. 'Say, you've got quite a grip there.'

'It comes in useful on occasion,' she replied, staring straight into his hard eyes.

'I guess it does.' He chuckled, a deep rumble which seemed to originate deep down in his chest. 'Fending off unwanted admirers. I guess there must be quite a few of 'em.' He turned his attention to Tweed. 'You sure get around.'

'So do you,' Tweed replied bluntly. 'Where exactly have you come from to get here?'

'I was in Basel. Nice peaceful city. Nothin' ever happens there.' He paused, as though expecting a reaction. 'Now I'm tourin' Germany. Kinda restin' up. Got a big job in London when I get back there.'

'What kind of a job is that?' Newman rapped out.

'Settlin' in new staff. We're enlarging the Emba.s.sy. London is becomin' the key city in the Western world.'

'London could do without the bombs,' Paula said, lifting her voice. 'And the hideous casualties caused by mindless terrorists.'

Out of the corner of her eye she saw both Sharon and Osborne look up, startled by her vehemence.

'You're sure right there,' Ronstadt agreed equably. 'Think I've disturbed you folks enough. Have a nice day.'

He walked off to an isolated table. On the way he called out in a rough manner.

'Waiter! Over here! I'm hungry.'

'Aggressive, callous b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' Paula hissed quietly, her hand gripping the napkin in her lap to regain self- control.

'Oh, he was deliberately being provocative,' Tweed said calmly. 'I liked your reference to bombs and terrorists, Paula. He didn't linger after that. I don't think he was very happy about the whole restaurant hearing you.'

'Did he hurt your hand when he shook it?' Newman enquired. 'I saw he exerted all his strength.'

'No, he didn't My grip is as strong as his. My aerobics. And I wanted to test his strength. I might come up against him later on my own.'

'Don't,' Newman warned, keeping his voice down. 'He's probably packing a gun at this moment.'

'And I'm packing my Browning,' Paula retorted. 'It does look as though he's leaving after breakfast, doesn't it?'

'No,' said Tweed.

'What makes you say that?' she demanded.

'The fact that he was putting on a demonstration for our benefit.'

'What kind of a demonstration?'

'Rather an obvious ploy. To give us the impression that he is leaving shortly. Hence his clothes, his overcoat and baseball cap. If he was on his way he'd attempt to conceal it. I think he's had enough of us. And something Marler phoned me about will, I'm sure, have upset Mr Jake Ronstadt. Thrown him off balance. Tell you later.'

'So we're here a bit longer?'

'At least for the rest of the day would be my guess: I see Sharon is leaving. She's gone now.' He drank more coffee. A short while later he stared. 'Well, look who's arrived.' - Paula and Newman stared across the dining room. Standing in the entrance, looking round the room, dressed in a dove-grey two-piece suit, was Denise Chatel. She was clutching a large handbag. After swiftly checking out who was having breakfast she vanished.

35.

Newman was getting up from the table when Tweed glanced across at Ronstadt. It seemed obvious he hadn't seen Denise. Crouched over a mobile phone, he had his head down, concentrating on his conversation.

'I'm going after her,' said Newman.

'Good idea,' said Tweed.

He doubted whether Newman had heard him. Without appearing to hurry, he was moving at speed out of the restaurant. He found no trace of Sharon outside. She must have gone straight up to her room. He saw Denise at the garderobe garderobe, collecting her coat. He went over in time to help her on with it. She nearly jumped out of her skin until she saw who it was. She moved towards the exit and Newman walked alongside her.

'Someone in the restaurant you didn't like the look of?' he asked cheerfully.

'Yes.'

'Ronstadt? Osborne?'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'But you do want breakfast. We can find a cafe outside. Plenty of them in Freiburg.'

'I'm ravenous, Bob.'

They were already outside in the street. She was becoming more confident about him, he sensed. They turned left and, walking fast, she almost slipped on a stretch of ice. He grasped hold of her, saved her from falling.

'Loop you arm through mine,' he said firmly.

She did so. She was trembling, and not with the cold. She was wearing a thick overcoat with a high collar. He smiled at her as they continued walking.

'People will start talking if they see us like this.' 'That's not funny.'

'Just a joke.'

'Bob.' She looked at him. 'You haven't got a coat and it's freezing. Should we go back so you can get one?' she suggested without any enthusiasm.

'The cold doesn't worry me. It's the great heat - with humidity - which I find trying.'

He was telling the truth. In this respect he was like Tweed, who also could stand any amount of cold, but he had to push himself hard in hot, humid weather. They arrived outside a large cafe-c.u.m-restaurant. Denise tugged at his arm.

'Let's check out this place. I want to get you inside into some warmth.'