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arrived in Lübeck.'
    `After a while, possibly. I know Tweed. He is the most cautious and wary counter-espionage chief in the whole of the West. Do not expect too much..
    `I expect Munzel to kill him.'
    `Probably. Let us be patient. We must be even more patient than Tweed. The one who wins this duel will be the man with the greatest stamina..
    `You are a pessimist..
    `No, just a realist.'
    The first man to receive the news from the phone box inside the Leicester Square Post Office, Martin Vollmer, waiting in his apartment at Altona, had made one further phone call after contacting Flensburg. Which is why a taxi with its Frei light doused had followed the unmarked police car from the airport to the hospital.
    He parked at some distance from the Audi as Kuhlmann climbed out, followed by Tweed. He watched them enter the hospital and settled back to wait further developments. He was so intent on observing what happened beyond his windscreen that he omitted to check his rear view mirror.
    Leaving the airport building, carrying his case, Newman at once noticed something odd. His whole experience as a foreign correspondent had trained him to spot the out-of-the-ordinary. He saw the Audi transporting Tweed turn out of the airport. Looking for a cab he also saw the taxi lacking the Frei sign illumination.
    The odd thing was the vehicle was occupied by the driver alone. The coincidence was that this driver decided to leave the airport without a fare at the precise moment the Audi drove off.
    Getting inside the next waiting cab, he handed the driver a ten-deutschmark note. 'That's your tip,' he said in German. `And I may add a bonus. Just follow that black Audi, please. You'll be helping the Drug Squad,' he added.
    Newman kept a close eye on the Audi. This action automatically made him observe the cab which appeared to be following it. As they turned into the kerb by the hospital Newman warned his driver to stop immediately. This placed his vehicle a dozen metres behind the other cab now parked by the kerb.
    He paid off his driver, stooped to pick up his case and noted the registration number of the waiting cab. Then he walked into the hospital Immediately his nostrils were assailed by the aroma of hygienic cleansing liquids. Newman detested all things medical. Still, he consoled himself as he entered the reception hall, it was in the line of duty. Damnit!
    `I can have that cab driver picked up,' Kuhlmann suggested when Newman finished his brief report. 'We'll grill the hell out of him...'
    `If I might make a suggestion,' Tweed intervened. 'Don't alert him. Have him followed, identified — if possible. But on no account should he be intercepted.'
    `You're blown,' Kuhlmann warned: 'That driver could be our only lead to who organized the tracker — and from the airport. That is very serious. After the precautions we took. I'm telling you.'
    Kuhlmann was short, broad-shouldered, had a large head and a wide mouth, his thick lips clamped on his cigar which was unlit. Dark-haired, his eyebrows were thick and his manner and speech suggested a very tough character. In his forties, Newman estimated.
    `Not to worry,' Tweed said. 'And let's play it my way. Low profile. Incidentally, normally this would be a case for the local police. How was it they brought you in?' Tweed turned to Newman. 'Chief Inspector Kuhlmann is from the Federal Police in Wiesbaden.'
    `Because they have a bright police chief here,' Kuhlmann told them. 'Name on the deceased's passport rang a bell. He put it through the computer at Cologne. Fergusson came up as one of your people. So, I phoned you. Which is why I'm here, why you are here. This case could have international implications...'
    `Then the BND could get involved.' Tweed sounded bothered as he referred to the German counter-intelligence HQ at Pullach just south of Munich. 'Low profile,' he repeated.
    `Let's go see the doctor who attended Fergusson,' Kuhlmann said impatiently. As they walked down a clinically