electronics complex -which involves fine instrumentation…'
`You mean he manufactures that horrible thing?'
'Damned sure of it.' He replaced the weapon inside his case and looked again out of the window. Up to now the view had been one of green cultivated fields and rolling hills – one of the most attractive and least-known parts of Switzerland. Well clear of the tourist belt.
The landscape was changing. They were crossing flatlands dimly visible in swirling mist which hid nearby Lake Konstanz. They saw few signs of human habitation and there was something desolate in the atmosphere. Martel concentrated on the view as though he might miss something important.
`This is the Rhine delta, isn't it?' he queried.
`Yes. We cross the river soon just before it runs into the lake.'
Delta. Was there significance in this geographical curiosity at the extreme eastern end of the lake? The southern shore was Swiss except for a weird enclave of land occupied by the German town of Konstanz away to the west. The northern shore was German. But at this eastern tip a few miles of lake frontage was Austrian.
Martel adjusted the horn-rimmed spectacles with plain glass he wore to change his appearance. He lit a fresh cigarette, being careful not to use his holder. He seemed to have relapsed into a dream.
'We shall soon be in Lindau,' Claire said exuberantly, trying to drag him out of his dark mood. 'Surely we must find something – it was
…' Her voice wavered and then she had herself under control. 'It was the last place Warner was seen alive.'
`Except that we are getting off at the stop before – Bregenz in Austria.'
'Why?'
`Bregenz could be important. And it will be the last place Delta will expect us to leave the train…'
Hauptbahnhof, Munich… Hauptbahnhof, Zurich… Delta… Centralhof…Bregenz. Washington, DC, Clint Loomis… Pullach, BND… Operation Crocodile.
These were the references the dead Charles Warner had written in the tiny black notebook hidden in a secret pocket, the notebook Erich Stoller of the BND had discovered on the body and flown to Tweed in London.
Bregenz.
As the express slowed down Claire caught a glimpse of Lake Konstanz through the corridor windows – a sheet of calm grey water. The express stopped and when Martel opened the door at the end of the coach he found no platform – they stepped down on to the track. He dumped his suitcase, took Claire's and held her elbow while she descended the steep drop. She shivered as she picked up her case and they made their way across rail tracks to the station, an old single-storey building.
`You shivered…'
It's the mist,' she said shortly.
A cold clammy dampness moistened her face and she felt it penetrating her light raincoat. She had lied. It was the mist partly – but mainly it was the atmosphere created by the drifts of greyish vapour. You saw things, then they were gone.
Behind Bregenz looms the massive heights of the Pfdnder, a ridge whose sides are densely forested. As they crossed to the station Claire saw a gap appear in the mist pall exposing the dripping wall of limestone, then it too was gone. There was no ticket barrier to pass through – tickets had been checked aboard the express. They depogited their cases in the self-locking metal compartments for luggage and walked into Bregenz.
The place seemed deserted, as though it were a Sunday. A line of old block-like buildings faced the station. Martel paused, puffing his cigarette as he glanced round searching for anything out of place. Claire gazed at him.
`Those glasses make you look studious – they change your whole personality. And you're walking more ponderously. You're just like a chameleon. Incidentally, what are we going to do here?'
He extracted two photos of Charles Warner obtained from Tweed before leaving Park Crescent and handed her one of the prints. She looked at the picture of the man she had worked with for over six months, the man who had been brutally murdered on
`You mean he manufactures that horrible thing?'
'Damned sure of it.' He replaced the weapon inside his case and looked again out of the window. Up to now the view had been one of green cultivated fields and rolling hills – one of the most attractive and least-known parts of Switzerland. Well clear of the tourist belt.
The landscape was changing. They were crossing flatlands dimly visible in swirling mist which hid nearby Lake Konstanz. They saw few signs of human habitation and there was something desolate in the atmosphere. Martel concentrated on the view as though he might miss something important.
`This is the Rhine delta, isn't it?' he queried.
`Yes. We cross the river soon just before it runs into the lake.'
Delta. Was there significance in this geographical curiosity at the extreme eastern end of the lake? The southern shore was Swiss except for a weird enclave of land occupied by the German town of Konstanz away to the west. The northern shore was German. But at this eastern tip a few miles of lake frontage was Austrian.
Martel adjusted the horn-rimmed spectacles with plain glass he wore to change his appearance. He lit a fresh cigarette, being careful not to use his holder. He seemed to have relapsed into a dream.
'We shall soon be in Lindau,' Claire said exuberantly, trying to drag him out of his dark mood. 'Surely we must find something – it was
…' Her voice wavered and then she had herself under control. 'It was the last place Warner was seen alive.'
`Except that we are getting off at the stop before – Bregenz in Austria.'
'Why?'
`Bregenz could be important. And it will be the last place Delta will expect us to leave the train…'
Hauptbahnhof, Munich… Hauptbahnhof, Zurich… Delta… Centralhof…Bregenz. Washington, DC, Clint Loomis… Pullach, BND… Operation Crocodile.
These were the references the dead Charles Warner had written in the tiny black notebook hidden in a secret pocket, the notebook Erich Stoller of the BND had discovered on the body and flown to Tweed in London.
Bregenz.
As the express slowed down Claire caught a glimpse of Lake Konstanz through the corridor windows – a sheet of calm grey water. The express stopped and when Martel opened the door at the end of the coach he found no platform – they stepped down on to the track. He dumped his suitcase, took Claire's and held her elbow while she descended the steep drop. She shivered as she picked up her case and they made their way across rail tracks to the station, an old single-storey building.
`You shivered…'
It's the mist,' she said shortly.
A cold clammy dampness moistened her face and she felt it penetrating her light raincoat. She had lied. It was the mist partly – but mainly it was the atmosphere created by the drifts of greyish vapour. You saw things, then they were gone.
Behind Bregenz looms the massive heights of the Pfdnder, a ridge whose sides are densely forested. As they crossed to the station Claire saw a gap appear in the mist pall exposing the dripping wall of limestone, then it too was gone. There was no ticket barrier to pass through – tickets had been checked aboard the express. They depogited their cases in the self-locking metal compartments for luggage and walked into Bregenz.
The place seemed deserted, as though it were a Sunday. A line of old block-like buildings faced the station. Martel paused, puffing his cigarette as he glanced round searching for anything out of place. Claire gazed at him.
`Those glasses make you look studious – they change your whole personality. And you're walking more ponderously. You're just like a chameleon. Incidentally, what are we going to do here?'
He extracted two photos of Charles Warner obtained from Tweed before leaving Park Crescent and handed her one of the prints. She looked at the picture of the man she had worked with for over six months, the man who had been brutally murdered on
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