Free Double Jeopardy by Colin Forbes

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    From the Hof area an autobahn ran due south via Nuremberg to the Bavarian capital of Munich. That was the most likely route. And Warner had spent a lot of time in Munich, paying special attention to the Hauptbahnhof for some unknown reason. He went back to his swivel chair, adjusted his glasses and sagged into his cushion.
    'We don't know much about Manfred, do we?' McNeil ventured.
    'We know nothing – and we know too much,' Tweed growled. He tapped a file. 'I must be getting psychic in my old age – I was looking at his dossier when you brought that signal.'
    'He's a top East German agent, isn't he? Some query about his nationality and origins. A top-flight assassin – and a first-rate planner. An unusual combination `But Carlos is an unusual man,' Tweed said and pushed his spectacles back over his forehead.
    'You really think he is Carlos? Nothing has been heard of him for ages…'
    `The Americans assume so. But there is something very peculiar going on which I don't understand. Delta is the neoNazis. Manfred is a free-lance Communist expert on major subversive operations. So who is behind Operation Crocodile- whatever that might be? And Crocodile – that reminds me of something I have seen…'
    'You look really worried. Shall I make coffee?'
    Tweed stared at the silent phone on his desk. He spoke half to himself. 'Come in, Martel, for God's sake! I must warn you – before it's too late. You're up against both Nazis and Communists. It's double jeopardy…'
    In a darkened apartment in a large building near Munich police headquarters in Ettstrasse a gloved hand lifted a telephone. The man wearing nylon gloves was the sole occupant. The only illumination came from a shaded desk light. He dialled a number. It was 4 am.
    'Who the bloody hell is this? Don't you know the time…
    Reinhard Dietrich had been woken at the schloss from a deep sleep and his voice reflected his fury. If it was Erwin Vinz again he would blast him to…
    'Manfred speaking.' The tone of voice was creepily soft and controlled. 'We hear you have a problem and that we find most disturbing.'
    Dietrich woke up very quickly, thrown off balance by the identity of the caller, by his words which suggested he knew something about the Zurich debacle. He sat up in bed and his tone of voice became polite and cooperative.
    'Nothing we can't handle, I assure you…'
    `But in Zurich, it was mishandled, so what may we expect next in St. Gallen?'
    Dietrich, a man accustomed all his life to issuing commands, dreaded the sound of Manfred's sleepy voice. When Manfred had first approached him at his Stuttgart office with his offer to supply arms and uniforms at cut-rate prices he had jumped at the chance. Now he half-regretted the decision – when it was too late.
    'You don't have to worry about St. Gallen.' He spoke in a bluff confident tone. 'I have already made arrangements to deal with the situation…'
    'We are very pleased to hear it. More arms and uniforms are available for immediate collection at the same warehouse. Where and when will you store this consignment?'
    Dietrich told him. There was a click and the industrialist realised Manfred had gone off the line. Arrogant bastard! And he detested his caller's habit of using the plural 'we' – as though Dietrich was taking orders from some all-powerful committee. At least more arms were on the way – God knows they had lost enough. How Erich Stoller of the BND tracked down the locations he had no idea.
    In Munich Manfred switched off the desk light. Wherever he was staying in the West he always wore gloves – there would be no fingerprints to trace when he left the apartment. There was a thin smile on his face. Operation Crocodile was proceeding according to plan.
    In the bedroom at the Hotel Metropol Claire Hofer was enduring a state of delayed shock after Martel told her of Lisbeth's murder. He omitted reference to the fact that she had been tortured. When she reacted she caught him off guard. .
    And