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Authors: Colin Forbes
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spinning in his head again …
But this girl felt right. It was his last thought before he lay back on the pillow and fell fast asleep.
He woke with a sensation of alarm. It was dark, the air heavy like a blanket pressing down. He wasn't sure where he was – so much had happened in so short a period of time. He was lying on his back on a bed. Then he remembered.
He was just relaxing when he experienced a second tremor. He kept his breathing regular. Someone had taken off his tie, undone the top buttons of his shirt, taken off his shoes. What alerted him was the lack of weight under his left armpit. The shoulder holster was still strapped to him but his Colt had been removed. He turned his head carefully, not making a sound, and reached out with his right hand. The fingers of another hand touched his own, grasped his hand. A girl's voice whispered before the bedside light came on.
`You're all right. You're in St. Gallen at the Hotel Metropol. I'm Claire Hofer. It's four o'clock in the morning so you've only had two hours' sleep…'
`I can get by on that.'
Martel was wide awake now, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He sat up and propped the pillow behind him. Claire Hofer was still wearing her pale grey two-piece suit and like himself, sat propped against a pillow. In the light glow he noticed she had made herself up afresh. No blood-red nail varnish, thank God!
'Your Colt is in your bedside table,' she told him. 'Not very comfortable sleeping with that. The door is double-locked – and as you see I've tipped a chair under the handle…'
'You seem to have thought of everything…'
Martel, who never accepted anyone at face value, set about discovering every facet of Claire Hofer. She was remarkably like the second girl he had encountered in the Zurich apartment, the girl he had rescued – only to let her be kidnapped and… Martel found it hard to push the atrocity to the back of his mind.
'What are you thinking about?' she asked.
'This…'
He extracted from his jacket pocket the silver Delta badge he had ripped from the lapel of a dead would-be assassin in Bahnhofstrasse. Casually, he tossed it on her bed. She moved away from it as though it were alive, staring at him, her eyes wide with fear.
'Where did you get that?'
She was quick and clever. During the few seconds while she was talking her right hand, which was furthest away from him and in shadow, slipped under her pillow and reappeared holding the 9-mm pistol which she aimed point-blank at his stomach.
'The badge frightens you?' he asked.
'You frighten me now. I shan't hesitate to shoot…'
`I believe you.'
He was careful to keep his hands folded in his lap, well away from the bedside table drawer. There was no softness in her voice now, in her expression, in the posture of her well- developed body. If he miscalculated the Swiss girl would pull the trigger.
`I took that badge off the body of a man I shot in Bahnhofstrasse last night. They were waiting for us when we came out of the apartment – Delta. None of your men with stocking masks or Balaclava hoods. Men in business suits! And each wearing a badge in his lapel. There was a lot of blood split – but an hour later the place was nice and tidy for tomorrow's tourists…'
'You said blood was spilt. You said "us"…
'Why didn't you keep our appointment at Centralhof?' he snapped.
'Arnold was going to take me off the Delta investigation after Warner's murder – so I went underground. Lisbeth was supposed to bring you here, to make sure you weren't followed. Unlike you, she knows some of Arnold's trackers…'
'And she knows Ferdy Arnold himself?'
'No, she has never met him. Why?'
'Let me describe Arnold,' he suggested. 'A thin, wiry man in his late thirties. Brown hair brushed back without a parting. Slate-grey eyes…'
'That's not a bit like him…'
'I thought so. Someone impersonating him turned up while we were at the apartment. I was even suspicious of Lisbeth because she had to look up
But this girl felt right. It was his last thought before he lay back on the pillow and fell fast asleep.
He woke with a sensation of alarm. It was dark, the air heavy like a blanket pressing down. He wasn't sure where he was – so much had happened in so short a period of time. He was lying on his back on a bed. Then he remembered.
He was just relaxing when he experienced a second tremor. He kept his breathing regular. Someone had taken off his tie, undone the top buttons of his shirt, taken off his shoes. What alerted him was the lack of weight under his left armpit. The shoulder holster was still strapped to him but his Colt had been removed. He turned his head carefully, not making a sound, and reached out with his right hand. The fingers of another hand touched his own, grasped his hand. A girl's voice whispered before the bedside light came on.
`You're all right. You're in St. Gallen at the Hotel Metropol. I'm Claire Hofer. It's four o'clock in the morning so you've only had two hours' sleep…'
`I can get by on that.'
Martel was wide awake now, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He sat up and propped the pillow behind him. Claire Hofer was still wearing her pale grey two-piece suit and like himself, sat propped against a pillow. In the light glow he noticed she had made herself up afresh. No blood-red nail varnish, thank God!
'Your Colt is in your bedside table,' she told him. 'Not very comfortable sleeping with that. The door is double-locked – and as you see I've tipped a chair under the handle…'
'You seem to have thought of everything…'
Martel, who never accepted anyone at face value, set about discovering every facet of Claire Hofer. She was remarkably like the second girl he had encountered in the Zurich apartment, the girl he had rescued – only to let her be kidnapped and… Martel found it hard to push the atrocity to the back of his mind.
'What are you thinking about?' she asked.
'This…'
He extracted from his jacket pocket the silver Delta badge he had ripped from the lapel of a dead would-be assassin in Bahnhofstrasse. Casually, he tossed it on her bed. She moved away from it as though it were alive, staring at him, her eyes wide with fear.
'Where did you get that?'
She was quick and clever. During the few seconds while she was talking her right hand, which was furthest away from him and in shadow, slipped under her pillow and reappeared holding the 9-mm pistol which she aimed point-blank at his stomach.
'The badge frightens you?' he asked.
'You frighten me now. I shan't hesitate to shoot…'
`I believe you.'
He was careful to keep his hands folded in his lap, well away from the bedside table drawer. There was no softness in her voice now, in her expression, in the posture of her well- developed body. If he miscalculated the Swiss girl would pull the trigger.
`I took that badge off the body of a man I shot in Bahnhofstrasse last night. They were waiting for us when we came out of the apartment – Delta. None of your men with stocking masks or Balaclava hoods. Men in business suits! And each wearing a badge in his lapel. There was a lot of blood split – but an hour later the place was nice and tidy for tomorrow's tourists…'
'You said blood was spilt. You said "us"…
'Why didn't you keep our appointment at Centralhof?' he snapped.
'Arnold was going to take me off the Delta investigation after Warner's murder – so I went underground. Lisbeth was supposed to bring you here, to make sure you weren't followed. Unlike you, she knows some of Arnold's trackers…'
'And she knows Ferdy Arnold himself?'
'No, she has never met him. Why?'
'Let me describe Arnold,' he suggested. 'A thin, wiry man in his late thirties. Brown hair brushed back without a parting. Slate-grey eyes…'
'That's not a bit like him…'
'I thought so. Someone impersonating him turned up while we were at the apartment. I was even suspicious of Lisbeth because she had to look up
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