Beyond the entrance to the Hilton on the Boulevard de Waterloo the reception counter stretches away to the right. It faces a huge sitting area furnished with comfortable chairs and small tables.
After dinner Brigadier Burgoyne was sitting upright in an armchair. Opposite him sat Willie Fanshawe and Helen Claybourne. Lee Holmes was stroking her long blonde hair as she settled herself in her own chair.
`You've been away a damned long time,' Burgoyne observed.
`Just to the powder room,' Lee replied. She smiled wickedly at the Brigadier. 'Women to tend to linger in a powder room. They're making themselves presentable for their men.'
Burgoyne grunted. He looked very smart in a blue pin-striped suit. Willie, as always, looked crumpled although also wearing a suit: his plump bulk made it impossible for him to keep any suit decent for more than a few days.
Both men had a glass of Grand Marnier which Burgoyne had paid for. Willie's income was a fraction of the Brigadier's. Helen, wearing a pleated white blouse with a mandarin collar and a navy blue skirt, studied Lee. The blonde was clad in an off-the-shoulder purple dress slit to her thigh. You do like to display your assets, she thought. Instead she said: 'Is your business trip proving successful, Brigadier?'
`Of course it is,' Willie broke in cheerfully, leaning forward. 'He's arming the world..
`Do keep your voice down,' Burgoyne snapped. 'You came at your own urging.'
`We did? My recollection is you suggested we join the party. And don't think we're not having the time of our lives, because we are. That's so, isn't it, Helen?'
`The time of our lives,' Helen repeated in a neutral tone.
`I think,' Lee intervened, 'we ought to amuse ourselves. What about a game of poker?' She looked at Burgoyne. `I'm going to take the pants off you.'
`I wouldn't mind taking the pants off you,' Willie told her and chuckled.
`Don't be coarse,' Helen scolded him. Willie had had a lot to drink. Lee was producing a pack of cards out of her large Gucci handbag. 'I think we ought to set a limit if we're playing for money,' Helen went on firmly.
`Of course we're playing for money,' Willie chattered on. 'What else is there to play for? I remember in Hong Kong we often stayed up all hours and…'
`Willie,' Helen interrupted, 'Lee has dealt the cards.' 'Of course. Sorry, my dear…'
Four heads bent over, studying their hands. Lee glanced up. Silence had descended. She had achieved her objective. Unusually for her, Lee didn't feel like talking.
`I have been working on an antidote to Stealth for months,' Delvaux explained in the kitchen of the Chateau Orange. `The work was speeded up since my wife was kidnapped. It kept me from going crazy with anxiety.'
'I admire your concentration,' Tweed remarked. 'How far have you got?'
`I have solved the problem. The whole history of warfare is based on the invention of counter-measures. The tank was followed by the creation of the anti-tank gun. The fighter plane compelled us to invent the ground-to-air missile…' Paula watched, fascinated, as Delvaux spilt out the words non-stop. 'So Stealth has driven me to invent a radar system – the most advanced in the world – which can actually see, register on the screen, the presence of a Stealth bomber or ship. And that is why my plant is working night and day. Come, let me show you something.'
Delvaux trotted over to the large fridge, the first time Tweed had seen him move normally. Opening it, he pointed to a modest-sized tin.
`What is that?'
`A tin of biscuits,' Paula answered, mystified.
`That is what it is intended to look like. In fact, it is a specially designed container impervious to extremes of heat or cold and which can be dropped without damaging at all the delicate instrument inside.'
Taking out the tin, he placed it on a table, prised off the lid, stood back and gestured. Tweed, Newman, and Paula peered inside. The walls were lined with some kind of protective material. Delvaux reached into the tin, carefully lifted out an intricate mechanism. The only part Paula recognized was what appeared to be a large circular TV-like screen. Delvaux then extracted a thick bound file.
`None of you will understand the file,' Delvaux warned. `But hand it to one of your radar boffins and he will at once understand how the system works. Tweed, please take this with you back to London. Arrange for a fleet of trucks with armed men to travel to my works. We will load them with a large number of these devices. Have you a card?'
Tweed produced one of his cards printed with only his name and General amp; Cumbria Assurance. Delvaux took it, extracted a pen from his pocket, underlined the 'T' of Tweed, showed it to him, then slipped it into his own wallet.
`All the drivers of those trucks must carry such a card. It will identify them to my General Manager, Alain Flamand. I will write that down for you. Another card. So the drivers deal only with Main Flamand. He practically lives at the plant. Now, I have designed an executive-style case which just takes the biscuit tin.'
Packing the mechanism inside the biscuit tin, he opened a drawer under the table, laid an executive case on top, slipped the tin inside the case, closed it, handed it to Tweed.
Tweed had secreted the card with Alain Flamand's name written in Delvaux's neat hand inside his wallet. He lifted the executive case and was surprised at its lightness. His expression was grim as he put it on the table.
`Thank you, Gaston. A feeble way of congratulating you on what you have achieved – and under the nerve- breaking conditions you are suffering. But we now have to think of Andover's body. The police – Benoit – must be told.'
`I suppose they must,' Delvaux said slowly.
Paula watched him crumble. The brisk vigour with which he had been speaking dissolved. The terror had returned. He held out his hands in a helpless gesture.
'Then the kidnappers will know…'
`Listen to me!' Tweed gripped his arm. 'Think! The men – or man – masterminding this hideous business know Andover has been murdered. Because they planned it. So they will expect a police ambulance to arrive to take away poor Andover's body. Benoit will be discreet, I promise you.'
`But the listening devices you have removed from here?'
`Can you put them back exactly where you found them?' Tweed asked Paula.
`Yes, we can. Come on, Bob. Back to work..
She took a dishcloth, damped it slightly under the running tap. Each bug had a rubber sucker used to attach it to wherever it was placed. For the next half-hour she worked with Newman's help, damping a sucker, pressing it against the surface precisely where she had found it. Delvaux had collapsed into a chair long before she had finished the job. Climbing down from the ladder, she put it back where she had found it.
`Everyone keeps quiet from now on,' Tweed whispered. He tapped Delvaux on the shoulder. 'Time to phone Benoit. We are going to turn off the tap and the radio. Tell Benoit an English friend, Sir Gerald Andover, called on you – a professional colleague and an old friend. He came to warn you his daughter had been killed. Did he know about your wife?'
`Yes, I told him after he arrived here…'
`And he phoned you from England earlier after Irene, his daughter, had been kidnapped.'
`But he didn't…'
`Say he did. It establishes an iron-clad reason for him to come and see you. There must be no mention of the real subject – Stealth. Have you got it?'
`Yes. It's simple – close to the truth. Only the timing was different,' Delvaux continued, whispering.
`And you tell him about me. About Paula and Newman. We suspected the same hideous technique was being employed on you. Luckily I was the one who found your letter to Andover – on his mantelpiece at Prevent. The letter in which you said you had solved the technical problem. By the way, how did you solve it?'
`Oh, from my researches, we built a Stealth light aircraft inside the works. I used the most advanced – at that time – radar and none of the available equipment detected it. So I analysed why – that involved complicated mathematical equations and the development of a theory. Laser is one element in the new apparatus you have in that case, but only one…'
`Now!' Tweed pounced. 'Repeat what you are going to tell Benoit. And not as though you've learned it by heart..
While explaining about the Stealth light aircraft Delvaux had spoken briskly. Paula found it pathetic to hear him relapse into his broken state as he repeated the story he had to tell. Tweed had the same reaction, but was also relieved – his story would be that much more convincing.
`Everybody else keeps quiet until we're out of the chateau,' Tweed warned again.
He switched off the radio, turned off the running water.
Paula had already cleaned and put away the crockery they had used, leaving out only Delvaux's. Otherwise Benoit might wonder why they had spent so much time there.
Delvaux phoned Benoit's headquarters in Brussels. He was told that as it was an urgent matter his call would be passed on to Chief Inspector Benoit immediately. It was possible he might arrive at the chateau very quickly.
Tweed patted the Belgian on the shoulder to indicate he had done well. To his surprise, as they walked across the hall Delvaux, snatching a coat from a cupboard, followed them outside.
`I can't wait in there alone.'
`You must get back inside soon. Benoit might fly here by helicopter.'
Tweed was worried, knowing that Benoit was in the vicinity. It was a fact he thought it best Delvaux did not know. They walked down the drive and Newman, remembering what had happened to Andover, put out an arm to make them stay still.
`I'll just check,' he said.
Holding his Smith amp; Wesson in both hands, he darted across the road, paused on the grass verge, listening, looking both ways. Then he approached the Mercedes cautiously. Only when he had checked the underside of the chassis with a pencil flashlight and looked at the engine was he satisfied. He went back and beckoned for them to cross.
He started the engines and switched on the heaters – the interior of the car was like an icebox. Delvaux sat in the back with Tweed while Paula occupied the front passenger seat next to Newman.
`Something very important I forgot to tell you,' Delvaux said suddenly. 'Hugo Westendorf in Germany was a member of INCOMSIN. Somehow the refugee problem is mixed up in all this.'
Two uniformed policemen were patrolling the dubious Marolles district of Brussels. Marolles lies behind the immense bulk of the Palace of Justice and is only a five-minute walk from the Hilton.
Both men were alert: it was not an area to go to sleep in. They peered into a bar. Marc, the younger, swivelled his eyes swiftly over the customers. No one 'known' to the police. They walked on, came to the entrance to a narrow cobbled street.
Armand, the older, paused, frowned. A few paces into the street a black Mercedes taxi was parked. He unfastened the flap of the holster on his right hip, making it easy to grab the butt of his pistol.
`Marc, might as well take a look. I think that cab is empty. Taxis don't park round here.'
His colleague had a pair of handcuffs and a truncheon slung from his belt on his left hip. His right hand was holding a walkie-talkie. They approached the car in the usual tactical manner – one man taking the right-hand side, the other the left. It was Armand who approached the driver's seat.
Marc noticed the sticker advertising a restaurant plastered across the rear window. Armand aimed his flashlight at the dashboard, saw the key in the ignition. He called out quietly to his colleague.
`Very odd. An empty cab and the key in the ignition.' `Except it isn't empty.'
Marc had opened the rear door. The cab driver was bent over in a huddled position so he couldn't easily be seen by a casual passer-by. Armand opened the other rear door, aimed his flashlight. The driver's head rested on the floor, sightless eyes staring up in the beam of the flash.
`Call headquarters,' Armand ordered. 'We have something here which is going to raise all hell… And that sticker is covering a bullet-hole in the rear window…'
Inside the parked Mercedes across the road from the Chateau Orange Delvaux was shivering despite the fact that the heaters were quickly warming up the interior. Tweed knew he was on the verge of another collapse.
`What is this about the refugee problem being mixed up with this whole strange affair? Andover used the word `catastrophe' to me. And how does Hugo Westendorf fit in?'
Tweed was hugely intrigued, although his manner was casual. Hugo Westendorf was – had been – a major player in the world of Western politics. He had been known as the Iron Man of Germany and – until recently – had held the post of Minister of the Interior. Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, he had resigned, pleading reasons of ill- health.
`Andover,' Delvaux continued, 'told us that a major part of the menace facing Western Europe was the tidal wave of refugees waiting on Poland's border to flood across the Oder-Neisse river line into Western Europe. He said they were being organized by the enemy.'
`You just said "us",' Tweed reminded him. 'Who does that mean?'
`Oh, Westendorf was here several times when he was Minister. He travelled to Herstal secretly – incognito – to attend meetings with Andover and myself. Westendorf was very strong on stopping those refugees, employing drastic methods.'
`You will have to leave soon and get back to the chateau before Benoit arrives,' Tweed warned.
Delvaux wasn't listening. 'And the terrible mistake the Americans have made is not to protect themselves against the Stealth threat. A move to save money – to help their economy. They are wide open to a horrendous attack.'
`I have heard that,' Tweed assured him. 'Now, you must go. At once, please. And remember, Benoit will be discreet.'
Delvaux opened the door slowly, as though reluctant to leave. He stood outside with the door still open while he pulled up his coat collar. Tweed leaned over to speak to him.
`Gaston, one important thing you haven't told me. That is, if you know the answer. Who is the new enemy?'
`Didn't I tell you? I thought I had. Andover – with his expertise on global power – had worked it out. And Westendorf agreed with him, completely.'
`Who?' Tweed pressed urgently.
The most menacing force we have ever faced. Forget Hitler, forget Stalin. They were small beer, as you say in England. The new enemy is the People's Republic of China. Over a billion people, one-quarter of the world's population. Andover called them Fortress China – Communism which is economically successful. They read history.'
As he walked away, shoulders bowed, feet dragging, across the road back to the chateau, Tweed looked at Paula. She had twisted round to stare at him.
`Yes, I had wondered,' Tweed said grimly. 'And Dr Wand is Director of Moonglow Refugee Aid Trust International. It is all coming together, the vague pattern which has been building in my mind. You remember the extracts from Andover's file I read out to you?'
`Which bit?'
Tweed quoted from memory. 'In 1214 Genghis Khan, the leader of the Mongol confederation… turned westward, conquered Western Turkestan, Persia, Armenia… and south Russia as far as Hungary and Silesia… His successor, Ogdai Khan, continued this astonishing career of conquest… a mixed army of the Poles and Germans was annihilated at the battle of Liegnitz.." And I pointed out Liegnitz is no more than two hundred and fifty miles from Hamburg.'
`So the Mongols are coming?'
`The People's Republic of China this time…'