Rhinoceros (36 page)

'And how did you first get to know Jeremy Mordaunt
originally?'

'The night before at a party.' Kent smiled. 'A short
acquaintance. Fool who introduced me to him called me
a financial genius, so he latched on to me. Arranged to see
me the following evening at this upmarket bar. A pretty
quiet place. I went because at the party he'd told me he
was Under-Secretary at the MoA. Thought I might pick
up something. Instead, he detonated his bomb.'

'Ever heard of the Elite Club before then?' Tweed
asked.

'Once. Brief reference to it from an informant I've never
trusted. So I dismissed it as hot air. But Mordaunt . . .'
Kent shuddered. 'He is — or was - close to the inner circle. I believed him.' He looked at Tweed. 'I'll take
those papers now, go back to my room, start working
on them.'

'Here they are.' Tweed handed him the envelope. 'Don't
let anyone see the blue book. Not staff. Not anyone. And
don't leave this hotel under any circumstances. If the
phone rings pick it up, say you're in conference, slam it
down.'

'Don't worry.' Kent stood up. 'And I'll get a safety
deposit box for this stuff while I'm downstairs eating.'

'I'll come with you to your room,' Newman said.

'You don't have to . . .'

He didn't sound at all convincing. When he'd taken
the envelope perspiration from his hands had stained the outside. He was still shaky.

'I'm calling Kuhlmann,' Tweed said when they had gone.
'Pink Shirt worried me - the way he reacted to the collapse
of his attack at the Turm. You're good at describing
people. I may put you on . . .'

'Morning, Tweed . . .' Kuhlmann's strong voice came
down the line. 'I was going to call you. Visited the Turm
today? A witness who has a flat nearby watched one hell of
a fight in the street just before noon. You wouldn't know
anything about that?'

'Yes. I was in die cafe with Paula. We watched from a
mile up. One lot - foreigners - took a beating.'

'Your people wouldn't have been involved?'

'What a question, Otto. Now you're on the phone, we
did see a strange individual standing clear of it - as though
he was the boss. We had binoculars. Paula can describe
him better than I would. Here she is . . .'

Paula spoke for several minutes. Tweed poured himself a
glass of water, stared out of the window. The sun streamed in, the lake looked as though it were boiling. The heatwave
was intensifying. Paula called to him.

'He wants to speak to you again.'

'Here, Otto . . .'

'That Paula is something else again. She paints a perfect
picture of a man. So much so, it struck a chord with
me. Oskar Vernon. Oskar with a "k". Very distinctive
appearance. Known to us, as we say.'

'In what way?'

'Bit of a mystery man. Loads of cash, dresses in an outlandish way, but very expensively. Suspected of being the
mastermind behind an international money-laundering
operation. Also of smuggling refugees in a big way. We
have two million Turks in Germany. Two, I wouldn't
mind, but two
million . . .'

'Arrest him.'

'No chance. No evidence. Works through a chain of men which runs down a long way from him. Powerful, ruthless,
smart.'

'Works on his own?'

'Don't think so, but could be wrong on that. He travels
the world, knows a lot of powerful men. Don't ask me for names. Haven't got any. If I had a photo I would be certain
this is Oskar Vernon. Spends a lot of time in Britain and
in the States.'

'Nationality?'

'Travels on a British passport but I'm damned sure he's
not English. Could have come from anywhere.'

'Otto, I might just be able to get you a photo of him.'

'That would decide it. Tweed, if you're up against him
be very careful. Several agents who tracked him ended up
in hospital.'

'Going back to the Turm. What we saw was a real
dogfight. A lot of bodies. Lying on the pavement. Injured,
I'd say. I suppose you've got them?' Tweed asked.

'Like hell I have. By the time we arrived there was blood
on the pavement - and nothing else. If you're right about
Vemon he'd have foreseen that might happen, would have
organized transport to move the evidence fast. Very fast.'

'He did.'

'You watch not only your back, but your front and both
sides. Don't make one mistake about Oskar. One is all he
needs . . .'

Tweed put the phone down. He relayed everything
Kuhlmann had said. Paula looked thoughtful.

'Could he possibly be Rhinoceros?' she suggested.

'Go along and see Newman. Explain the situation. If Oskar is still at the Renaissance Harry might get a photo
of him. But he'll need your camera. Then please stay in
Newman's room until I call you. I have to interview Lisa,'
Tweed said.

'You'd better be careful with her too. She's clever.'

'Maybe too clever by half. . .'

Tweed checked his watch after Paula had left. Lisa was
due in two minutes. Sure enough, she arrived on the
dot. Tweed asked her to sit down, offered a glass of
champagne.

'Yes, please.' She smiled warmly. 'I won't drink too
much. I think there's nothing more disgusting than a
woman who is drunk.'

She wore the same clothes but had put her hair up.
Round her forehead she wore a green bandanna, had
added lipstick and a touch of mascara. Seated in an
armchair, she stretched her bare arms along the sides.
Newman would have said she looked very sexy. It was
water off a duck's back to Tweed, who was in a grim
mood. He sat facing her across a small table.

'Lisa, there are some questions I have to ask. About your
background. That is, if you want to stay with us.'

'I
do...'

'Where were you educated?'

'I won a scholarship to Roedean. I did make friends
but I found the atmosphere too rarefied. Then later I won
another scholarship, this time to Oxford . . .'

'Studying?'

'Languages. French and German. I was the odd one out
- I didn't mix much. I concentrated on work. Too many
of the others fooled around. I got a Double First.'

'Impressive.' Tweed smiled, his manner deliberately
becoming more relaxed to gain her confidence. 'When
you left Oxford?'

'Became an air hostess, so I could travel. If you obey the
rules, keep to your schedule, you see damn-all. I missed
several return flights so I could explore places. New York,
Singapore, Paris, here - Hamburg. They put up with my
missing flights back for a while because I was good at
the job. Then they chucked me out. That covered about
two years.'

'After that?'

'Went to New York, joined a security agency for a couple
of years.'

'Doing what?'

'Tailing businessmen suspected of embezzlement. I
learned quite a bit about accountancy to do the job
properly - studied in my apartment at night.'

'Did you know Mark Wendover before you met him in
London?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I said, did you know Mark Wendover before you met
him at my office in Park Crescent?'

'No.'

Tweed was sure that if she'd been attached to a polygraph
- a lie detector - the machine's needle would have jumped.
For the first time he felt she had told a lie. Nothing in his expression changed. He went on switching the questions' subject matter.

'What was your father's job?'

'He was in the Intelligence Corps. Shortly after he
was transferred to Cyprus he was shot in the back. My
mother flew with him on their way home. The plane
crashed and my father was killed. My mother survived,
later remarried.'

'Must have been a terrible shock for you.'

'Yes.' She paused. 'It was. But by then I was an air
hostess, so I was reasonably mature, had been around,
had learned to fend off unwanted attentions from men. I
carried on with the job for a few months before they threw
me out.'

'Where were you born?' Tweed asked quietly.

'Place called Pinner in Middlesex. Lived there for a long
time. Until I went to Roedean. Address - Shoals Cottage,
Orchard Tree Road.'

Tweed smiled. She had anticipated his next question.
He was taking no notes. Writing things down inhibited
the subject he was interrogating.

'You got on well with Helga, your late sister?'

'I did not. We fought like cat and dog. Since she was older she thought she could boss me about. To be fair, I think it was simply her temperament. My mother had
married a German professor in Freiburg, went to live with
him there. Don't know why she did that.'

'So,' Tweed smiled warmly, 'we got through that with
out a tantrum.'

'I really am sorry about that. I occasionally get worked
up. Usually when I'm tense. But not in an emergency.'

'And you can handle a Beretta,' he said casually.

'Well.' She chuckled. 'I don't shoot myself in the foot
with it.' She reached for the glass of champagne Tweed had
poured for her earlier. 'And I'm familiar with the Walther
and the Browning.'

'Wi'ere did you learn all this?'

'By chance. Had a boyfriend who was mad keen. He
took me to a shooting club in London, showed me what
he could do - which was no more than passable. Gave
me a Beretta. I scored six bull's-eyes and three inners.
He said it was a fluke. We went back the following day.
I scored five bull's-eyes and an inner. He said beginner's
luck. So I tried again. Six bull's-eyes. We went back to
my flat off Ebury Street, had the emperor of a row, which
he started. Couldn't stand a girl beating him at anything.
End of friendship. Some men are like that.'

'And now you're working for Rhinoceros?'

She chuckled again, re-crossed her legs, sipped more of
her drink.

'In an interrogation always save the heavyweight punch
for the end.' She stared at him, her eyes fixed on his.
'For your information, Mr Tweed, I've no idea who I'm
working for. But the money is good. And I think it's in a worthwhile cause.'