By Stealth

33

In London it was afternoon as Tweed slowly paced round his office while Monica watched him. Philip Cardon had completed his report, then had been overwhelmed by fatigue.

He had phoned his girl friend's flat to tell her he was coming home. She'd told him her flat was no longer home for him: in his long absence she had acquired a substitute boy friend. Tweed had immediately called in Butler, who had agreed to take Cardon by car to his own pad. When he came back he said Cardon was sleeping like a babe

…'

Tweed had told him to stay in the office he shared with Pete Nield.

`I may need you at a moment's notice. Be ready to travel abroad. Monica will supply you with Belgian and German currency…'

`You're getting geared up for a big push,' Monica had suggested late in the morning.

`We may have to move very fast. I'm trying to out-think Dr Wand – as I'm sure he's trying to out-think me. It all depends on which of us successfully deceives his opponent…'

There had then been a flurry of phone calls – some of which had surprised Monica. First, Tweed had phoned the PM, asking permission to take a certain course of action. He had then waited to give the PM time to make his own phone call. Later Tweed had called SAS HQ at Hereford, speaking to the officer in charge of the stand-by team.

`I may need you to fly your men urgently to somewhere in Europe.'

`North or south?' the officer had queried. 'It makes a difference.'

`Definitely northern Europe. I may phone you from quite a distance to give you the objective. I'll use the code-word Hurricane.'

`I favour transporting my men by a fleet of choppers,' the officer had suggested.

`So do I. It may be a small airfield where you land. And it could be vital to be equipped with powerful limpet mines. To sink ships.'

`No problem there.'

`I'll be in touch, Conway…'

Tweed doubted whether that was his real name. When he called Noble the Commander of Naval Intelligence insisted on dashing over to see him – as opposed to talking even on a scrambler phone.

When the ruddy-faced Noble arrived he seemed very cheerful. He accepted coffee from Monica and then began talking at top speed.

`I speeded up the operation to bring back the consignment from Liege. We flew there last night. Benoit was very co-operative, had the airport closed down by the time we arrived. Plus unmarked cars to transport us to Delvaux's plant. Delvaux was there himself. Looked strained, but he's got all his marbles.'

`You can't mean you've brought everything back here already?' Tweed asked, not bothering to conceal his surprise.

`It's all at the Admiralty Research Establishment now. Has been for many hours. That Stealth light aircraft we dismantled is amazing. We assembled it – worked all night non-stop – and none of our most advanced radar could detect it. But Delvaux's device does – from the first reports our boffins phoned me just before I came over here.'

`How long before you're sure?' Tweed asked anxiously. `Time may not be on our side.'

`A matter of hours. That light aircraft Delvaux had constructed actually flies. A pilot is taking it up – then we'll be certain. And we brought back fifty of Delvaux's unique radar systems. I'll stick my neck out – I think you've brought us the answer to Stealth ships. Between you and me, we've been worried sick about the prospect that a hostile power might build them.'

`Could you tell me whether you have a naval vessel operating in the North Sea? Specifically, within reach of the coasts of Germany and Denmark?'

`Strictly between us – but I owe you a lot – the missile- armed frigate Minotaur is cruising in that area. Will be for some time. Why?'

`If,' Tweed emphasized, 'you find Delvaux's device is fool-proof, could you fly one out to the Minotaur?'

`Very quickly in an emergency. The Minotaur's captain is a young chap, Tug Wilson. Hates the nickname Tug, but he's resigned to it now. He's one of the old school. His motto? "If necessary, ram the bastards."' He turned to Monica. 'I hope you'll excuse my language.'

`I've heard worse round here,' she assured him.

`So could I contact this Tug Wilson by getting in touch with you by phone?' Tweed enquired.

`Easily. And I'm sleeping aboard while this action is on.' Tweed realized that by 'aboard' he was referring to sleeping on a camp bed in his Admiralty office. 'You are taking all this very seriously,' Noble observed as he stood up. 'Is this an emergency? If I can tell my people it is, then I'm going to get full co-operation from the Admiral which would put everyone on their toes.'

`I don't want to be melodramatic, but it could involve the survival of the West,' Tweed said slowly. 'And if I call you from abroad I'll use the codeword Hurricane so you're sure it's me speaking.'

`Hurricane,' Noble repeated as he prepared to leave. 'It sounds as though you're expecting one. We'll expect one, too. I think I'll contact Tug Wilson as soon as I get back. Good hunting…'

After he had gone Tweed had asked Monica to arrange for a meal of sandwiches to be brought in. He was eating the last one when he began pacing round his office.

`What do you think about what Cardon told us about the mysterious Dr Wand?' Monica asked.

Tweed didn't reply for a while. He was playing back in his mind what Cardon had told them.

`I stress these are only rumours,' Cardon had begun, tut they come from three very different contacts – and all three said the same thing. Wand is thought to be General Chang, a top member of the Chinese High Command. He appeared out of nowhere in Hong Kong after spending months in the United States. There he is believed to have been treated by an American plastic surgeon – who died in a car accident soon afterwards. He established his trading company… seemed to have unlimited funds. His company prospered in two years, then he expressed an interest in the world-wide refugee problem. So, he came to Europe and organized his Trust for aiding refugees-'

`Just a moment,' Tweed had interrupted. 'Any idea where these huge funds came from?'

`Let me tell it in sequence. He cultivated men of influence in all the key European countries – men also concerned with the refugee problem. He's on dining-out terms with several EC Commissioners – they like his lavish hospitality. Most of them think he was born in Hong Kong – a Chinese mother and an English father. When I said he was suspected of being General Chang I referred to underground contacts. None of the taipans he mixed with in Hong Kong have even heard the rumour…'

Cardon had stopped speaking to swallow a whole tumbler of water. Tweed watched him carefully, seeing signs that he was running out of steam.

`Now we come to the money,' Cardon had continued. `Which is why I spent three days in Chengmai in North Thailand, close to the so-called Golden Triangle – the great centre for illegal drug distribution on a colossal scale.' He had paused to make his next point.

`The Chinese Government is controlling the vast drug industry spreading havoc in the West…'

`But they shoot drug traffickers inside China,' Monica had objected.

`Of course they do,' Cardon had told her. 'They don't want their own people weakened by the scourge. Just the West. It is a classic case of the Chinese liking for the double-edged sword – they sell the drugs to the West via second parties. The drugs break down the moral and physical fibre of the West – and provide Beijing with vast sums of hard currency. So, without knowing it, drug users over here, in Europe, and the States, are financing Operation Long Reach, and ultimately their own destruction…'

Later Tweed had put to him the question which was intriguing him.

`Philip, how on earth did you get out of Lop Nor alive?'

`Oh, it was quite easy. I'd realized by then I was wearing the uniform of a high-ranking Security Service officer. I went back to the airfield, found another of their old crates was just leaving for Chungking. The steward made one of the passengers get out of his seat and crouch down in the aisle at the rear. Didn't ask him – he just did it. It was almost night when we landed at Chungking. I beat a hasty from the airport, walked out into the countryside, took off the uniform and burnt it. Which left me in my original rags. I then smuggled myself aboard a hovercraft going down the Yangtze River as a crewman-'

`Hovercraft!' Monica had interjected. 'You're joking.'

`No, I'm not. A bit of a rocky ride but the engines were almost silent. Make a dangerous war vessel. I got off at Hankow and took the long train ride to Canton. From there it's no distance at all to slip across the frontier into Hong Kong. A piece of cake…'

At that point Cardon had closed his eyes and fallen fast asleep until Butler had escorted him to his car.

Tweed answered the question Monica had asked earlier, pacing back to his desk and sitting in his chair.

`I think Cardon could be right about Dr Wand. During the brief moment when I saw Wand clearly by the flare of Bob's lighter it struck me there was something Oriental about his features. I suspect I wouldn't have noticed it in broad daylight.'

`What I couldn't get over was the way Philip kept saying it was easy, a piece of cake, phrases like that.'

`I don't think for a moment it was easy. That is just Philip's throwaway confidence. And remember, the British have been good in the past at disguising themselves as another race, infiltrating all sorts of dangerous places. Lawrence of Arabia – passing himself off as an Arab. In India, during the Raj, a clever soldier would dress himself up as a native and move around in hostile territory on the north-west frontier to spy on some rebellious khan. Cardon belongs to that age.'

`What did Philip mean when he said the great anchorage at Cam Ranh Bay in Vietnam has been closed to all shipping?'

`Look at the map.' Tweed jumped up, walked over to the wall map of the world. 'I think that's where Stealth vessels are sailing to Europe from. The logical secret route, avoiding the major shipping lanes, is via the Timor Sea – where ships have disappeared. Then via the Cape – where more ships disappear. And Vietnam is the other major power where the Communists are firmly in the saddle. They've secretly linked up with China, I suspect.'

`It really is frightening. And just when we thought we could relax …'

`Which is just what we're not going to do,' Tweed said grimly, returning to his desk. need the strongest team I can muster when I reach Brussels tonight. Book a seat on my plane – and through to Hamburg later – for Butler.'

The phone rang. Monica answered it, placed a hand over the mouthpiece.

Guess who. It's Philip Cardon…'

`You are supposed to be sleeping,' Tweed snapped. `Why are you calling? Before you answer tell me just where you are calling from.'

`To talk to you briefly, from a public phone box,' Cardon said laconically.

`You didn't go to bed?' Tweed demanded.

`Yes. Couldn't sleep. I'm wearing a heavy overcoat and a pair of trousers over pyjamas. Look, I got the feeling something big is breaking. After a bit of kip I want to be included in on it.'

`You need a holiday…'

`I said I wanted to be included in it. Are you deaf?'

`All right,' Tweed said in a resigned tone. 'Phone Monica but only after a long sleep.'

`Agreed. And don't forget what I said about Chengmai…'

Tweed told Monica the gist of the conversation after he put down the phone. He drummed his fingers on the desk.

`We could use every man. Book Philip an open ticket to Brussels and on to Hamburg. Then another one on a direct flight to Hamburg.'

`You really are mustering the troops,' she commented.

`I'm sure Dr Wand will be doing the same thing.'

`Do you think he's right about this character, Vulcan? A top mole who is one of Wand's chief associates. And English, too.'

`Not a mole,' Tweed corrected her. 'Philip emphasized his contacts in Hong Kong said he existed. That he'd spent time in the colony. Yes, I think he does exist. Interesting that he's an Englishman…'

Benoit, accompanied by plain-clothes officers, followed Newman into the dank wilderness of the Parc d'Egmont. Behind him walked Paula and Nield.

On Benoit's order to the General Manager of the Hilton the windows of the Cafe d'Egmont overlooking the park had been masked. It was night and the only illumination came from torches held by the police and Newman.

It was Newman who had phoned Benoit. He had received a strange call in his room. The muffled voice sounded like a man's, and the message had been delivered in English.

`You will find something interesting if you go now to the Parc d'Egmont. Better go back home. Don't trip over anything…'

`I can take you straight to it,' Newman said as he led the way.

`I don't for a moment think you imagined what you saw, my friend,' Benoit replied.

Newman trod carefully down the wet grassy slope. Close to a tree, he stopped. Silently he aimed the beam of his torch. The body lay on its back, legs tangled, the eyes staring sightlessly upwards. Benoit and another officer stooped to examine it.

`Cyanosis,' Benoit commented. 'Lips blue, whole face has a bluish tinge.'

`My verdict,' Newman agreed. 'This is Joseph Mordaunt. Freelance journalist I know slightly. Last saw him in the New Forest area in England.' He paused. 'And then in the lounge area of the Hilton about noon.'

Paula stepped forward, shocked. Only a few hours ago she'd had a long and very pleasant lunch with the heap lying on the ground which had been a live human being.

`I can tell you something about him,' she said.

`Back in the hotel,' Benoit said tersely. He looked at Newman. 'This is the second case of murder by cyanide within walking distance of the Hilton. The driver of the cab which was stolen and driven to Liege was found in Marolles. And whoever drove that cab murdered Sir Gerald Andover. Three murders close together. For me that is three too many.'

`I think you can see how it was done.' Newman crouched down. He aimed his torch at the sleeve of the right upper arm. A rip in the coat's cloth showed clearly. `My guess would be the hypodermic was rammed straight through his clothes into the flesh.'

`Same technique as was used on the cab driver,' Benoit remarked, crouching beside Newman. 'Which suggests it could be the same person.'

`I think it was a woman,' Paula said suddenly.

`Why do you say that?' Benoit asked sharply, looking up at Paula.

`Because Mordaunt was a man who liked women. But he wasn't stupid. This is a lonely place. Only a woman, I'd have thought, could have got close enough…'

She broke off as a fresh group of men appeared with torches. A short, plump, bald-headed man, carrying a bag, put on his glasses, peered at Benoit after a glance at the body.

`You do choose the most original locations to find your corpses,' he observed.

Pathologist,' Benoit whispered to Newman as they straightened up. 'And the forensic boys. Let's get back to the hotel and leave them to their work. I'll come back with you by myself. The hotel manager is nearly doing his nut about a murder just outside his cafe.'

Despite the macabre atmosphere Paula smiled to herself. Doing his nut. Benoit prided himself on his command of English slang.

`I do have grim news for you,' Benoit whispered again to Newman as they made their way out of the park.

Entering the hotel Paula noticed Helen Claybourne curled up like a cat on a couch, reading a book. She looked up, raised a hand in a small salute, returned to reading her novel.

Benoit shook his head, frowned as the hotel manager began to approach them. Standing in front of the closed elevator doors, no one said anything. The doors opened and Lee Holmes stepped out. Paula caught an aroma of fresh talc. Lee had just had a bath. She grabbed Newman by the arm.

Bob! Give me just a second. Please! I do want to explain,' she pleaded.

`I'll be up in a minute,' Newman said. 'Here's the key to my room,' he went on quickly, handing it to Benoit. `Paula knows the number. I'll join you very shortly…'

Newman suggested to Lee they could talk in the bar. She nodded and he was glad she didn't take hold of his arm. He was still slightly irked by her disappearance from the restaurant in Grand' Place without a word, although his mind was mostly filled with the murder of Joseph Mordaunt.

She led him to a secluded corner banquette. He sat beside her, leaving a gap between them. She ordered a brandy and Newman asked for a glass of Chablis.

`I really am sorry to treat you in the way I did,' she began. 'The waiter gave you my message?'

`No. But the place was busy and I paid a different waiter for the drinks. What message?'

The drinks arrived and she grasped her glass immediately, sipping a little of the brandy. Then she turned to face him.

He caught a whiff of her perfume. Guerlain Samsara, Tweed had said. There was still that mystery as to who had the bottle: Lee or Helen.

`I suddenly felt sick – very sick. The smell of food in the place made me feel worse. I drank a whole glass of mineral water at one go, asked the waiter to tell you that I was feeling off colour and was going straight back to the hotel.'

He wasn't sure whether he believed her or not. He couldn't read her eyes, let alone her mind.

`I'm sorry you felt unwell,' he said. 'Feeling any better now?'

I lay down for most of the afternoon, then had a bath. I think I'll soon feel half-civilized. The brandy is helping.' `Good. Sip it slowly.'

She laid a hand on his arm. 'Am I forgiven, Bob?' `Nothing to forgive. You can't help feeling unwell. I'd recommend a quiet evening.'

`I suspect I dragged you away from a business meeting. So, if you want to go please do.'

'If you don't mind…'

He paid for the drinks, left the bar, and saw Helen Claybourne standing in front of an exhibition poster. She swung round, walked towards him with her slow, elegant step. As always, she looked neat as a new pin, clad in a pale blue blouse, a dove-grey pleated skirt, and low-heeled shoes. Her cool eyes had a mischievous look which Newman found rather fetching.

`I'm an abandoned woman,' she told him. 'No sign of my Willie. The Brigadier has gone missing. Would you think it very forward of me if I asked if you were free for dinner later?'

`I might be. I'll know later. Sorry to be so vague but I'm going to a business meeting. Never know how long they're going to last. I'll try and cut it short,' he said and smiled.

She showed him the little folder the hotel provided with the room number. Leaning forward, she spoke in her soft voice.

'If you could let me know by eight o'clock. Meantime I'll live in hope..

Going up in the elevator Newman was a disturbed man. I think it was a woman, Paula had said while they stood close to the dead body of Mordaunt.

Had he – within the past ten minutes – been talking to the murderess?