By Stealth

37

On the inside of the harbour basin Tweed grabbed hold of Kuhlmann by the arm. He spoke quietly but urgently.

`That was a Stealth ship which sunk Westendorf's motor yacht…'

`Stealth?' the German asked, mystified.

`Listen to me, Otto! Like the Stealth bombers the Americans built. You've heard of them? Good. There are ships now built of similar materials – invisible to normal radar. Paula saw nothing on the screen just before she ran down into the saloon. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about…'

`You normally do. An invisible ship?'

`Invisible to all present forms of radar,' Tweed stressed. `Then I'll contact the river police. And the Coastguard. This fog extends to the sea…'

This fog was lifting onshore. Kuhlmann ran up to the entrance to a three-storey hotel as the others followed. An old building of character, it had white plaster walls. As the others followed him, entering a garden past a beech hedge covered with dead leaves, Paula noticed a turret at one corner and the date of its construction on the side wall. 1902.

Marler joined Tweed and Paula, the Armalite concealed inside his hold-all. His trouser legs were sodden with damp. He spoke quickly.

`I hit someone when I fired, heard his body splash into the water

…'

`Tell Kuhlmann quickly…'

Marler ran after the police chief as he mounted a flight of steps to the building. The Strandhotel. There was a brief consultation between the two men and Kuhlmann ran inside the hotel. Marler walked back down the path to join the others as Westendorf arrived.

`Paula is shivering with the cold. Let us go back to my car and wait for Kuhlmann,' the German suggested.

`I'll wait inside my own car, parked not far behind yours,' Marler decided.

He was careful not to report the incident of the man he was sure he had shot. He wasn't sure how much Tweed wanted Westendorf to know.

`That's better,' said Paula, settled in the rear of the limo and taking off her gloves to rub her hands. Already the heaters Westendorf had switched on were filling the interior with welcome warmth. And Westendorf had been tactful, attributing her shudders to the cold: she sensed he realized she was suffering from delayed reaction.

`What about your son, Franz?' Tweed enquired, seated in the front beside their host.

`He is being kept in a Bremen clinic overnight for a medical check-up. He will be back with me in the morning. I talked with him over the phone and he was quite indignant at being kept there while doctors "messed him about", as he put it. He sounded in very good shape, I'm relieved to say. Now, what happened back there at the harbour?'

Tweed explained quickly about Stealth, about the drama at Lymington when Paula had waited at the marina. He looked over his shoulder.

`All along I have trusted your eyesight. Now we've had further proof how good it is. Had you not acted so swiftly we would all be dead.'

`I did see something coming for the Holsten,' Paula responded. 'I couldn't be a hundred per cent certain at the Lymington marina, but this time I was. And the radar was blank – I glanced at it before I flew down the steps.'

`Andover and Delvaux told me about Stealth ships while I was in Liege,' Westendorf mused. 'I didn't believe them. Now I do. They add a terrifying dimension to the menace which faces Europe and – ultimately – America. We'll never even see the enemy coming. Andover told me a lot when I visited Liege.'

`Which enemy is that?' Tweed asked.

`The People's Republic of China, the citadel of Communism. He foresaw an army of twenty million sweeping across Asia, like the old Mongol hordes, but at much greater speed with modern tanks. He said he had talked with a Russian called Voronov in Hong Kong.'

`Not Viktor Voronov, the administrator of the KGB archives in Brezhnev's time?'

`The same. He was an old man when he sought out Andover to warn him.'

Westendorf stopped speaking. He was staring towards the harbour as though stunned by what had happened. `Warn Andover about what?' Tweed pressed.

`By then Voronov was disillusioned with the whole system. Had been for a long time, apparently, which is why he slipped across the border into China and then Hong Kong. He told Andover the Chinese were in close touch with the old Soviet hardliners – in Kazakhstan, Russia, and Ukraine. As soon as the Chinese hordes arrive they'll install the hardliners as puppet rulers – so they'll just sweep over the old Soviet Union with no opposition and on into Europe. What puzzles me is these weird colonies of executives you mentioned.'

`I quote Andover's historical research from memory – "Ogdai Khan swept his hosts across Asia to Russia in 1235… Poland was ravaged, and a mixed army of Poles and Germans was annihilated at the battle of Liegnitz in Lower Silesia in 1241… the Mongols embarked upon the enterprise with full knowledge of the situation of Hungary and the condition of Poland – they had taken care to inform themselves by a well-organized system of spies."' Tweed paused. 'I draw your attention to the last few words. History is repeating itself.'

`You mean-' Westendorf began.

`That these so-called executives in Britain, Belgium, Germany – and soon to arrive, I suspect, in force in Denmark – are spies trained in the East, probably in China. They may well be the advance guard, the elite who will control more to come – across the Oder-Neisse frontier with other refugees.'

`You sound convinced,' Westendorf commented. `Well, that's the way I'd organize it…'

He stopped speaking as Kuhlmann appeared, tapped on the window, and gestured for Tweed to join him. Outside the limo Tweed followed the police chief, who paused near to Marler's car.

`I have alerted everyone. Reinforcements of police will arrive shortly to search the shore. Ah, I think they are arriving already.'

Patrol cars were appearing as dim shapes, parking along the Strandweg. Uniformed men jumped out, went across a stretch of grass to the edge of the Elbe. Others ran back out of sight parallel to the river.

`Radio in patrol cars can speed things up,' Kuhlmann commented.

`Searching the shore for what?' Tweed asked.

`The body of the man Marler shot – and heard hit the water. The tide is beginning to recede. With a lot of luck the body may be washed up on one of the little sandy beaches further down the river. A long shot but-'

Kuhlmann broke off as a uniformed man ran back towards him. He stopped, panting for breath.

`Chief Inspector, we have discovered the corpse of a man lying on a beach…'

`To Berliner Tor!'

Kuhlmann gave the order to the police driver who had taken over the wheel of Marler's Mercedes 600. It was night. They had left Blankenese, had escorted Westendorf, driving his limo, to Schloss Tannenberg. A plain-clothes detective had materialized out of nowhere, had removed the dragon's teeth chain across the open entrance. Through his window Westerndorf gave Tweed a little salute, disappeared down his drive.

`What's the idea of that chain which was removed just before we left the villa?' Tweed asked Kuhlmann.

Marler sat in front beside the driver, who knew the way. In the roomy rear Tweed sat next to Kuhlmann, who had Paula on his left and Newman beyond.

`I feared the kidnappers – when they realized I was on their tails – might resort to attacking the villa, to kidnapping Westerndorf himself. There are three chains along the drive – just in case an armoured car was used to break in. Even such a vehicle would have been stopped.'

`And it will be possible for me to contact Inspector Nielsen in Copenhagen? On scrambler?'

`Why do you think we are going to Berliner Tor? A clever man, Nielsen. No wonder he is chief of police intelligence. You think the climax of all this grim business will take place in Copenhagen?'

`In Denmark,' Tweed said cryptically.

`I shouldn't have asked!'

`Mind you, I am guessing – gambling on a great scale. I am trying to out-think the swine behind all this villainy.'

`You usually guess right. You looked surprised when I asked Marler for his Armalite. I want it for ballistics at Berliner Tor – to check the bullet in the skull of the body we found on the beach. Something strange about him. No hint of his identity was found in his sodden pockets. Dressed like a seaman. I've never known a seaman with nothing in his pockets – no money, no photo of a girl friend. Just nothing. The pathologist may be able to tell me more about his origins. And I also phoned the harbour master. He'll report to me in the morning as to whether any vessel was moving on the Elbe in the fog. He doubts it.'

`You've been busy,' Tweed replied. 'Could I ask you to add one more task to your list? Check whether a Lear jet, owner Dr Wand, is waiting at Hamburg Airport? If so, has the pilot filed a flight plan? And if he has – the destination.'

`I'll send out an officer to have a word with the security chief. Discreetly. Wand carries a lot of clout.'

`Here? Why?'

`A strange man. He has this refugee aid outfit. That gives him influence. But mainly he has money. He is renting a villa out at Othmarschen – that's a wealthy district you pass before you reach Nienstedten, which is where Westendorf lives. Wand is on dining-out terms with several cabinet ministers in Bonn I won't name. They enjoy being taken out to expensive restaurants, served the finest wines.'

`The same technique Dr Wand uses in Belgium,' Tweed remarked. 'How long has he rented this villa?'

`No idea. The German owner has a place in California he prefers – or rather his new young wife prefers.'

Newman was staring out of the window. He had his bearings now. He leaned across Paula to speak to Kuhlmann.

`Could you drop me close to the Four Seasons? I have some people there I'd like to have a word with.'

`Brought the whole brigade with you?' Kuhlmann asked, looking at Tweed. 'You're treating this as a major operation?'

`It's serious,' Tweed said, and left it at that as the car stopped to let out Newman at the corner of Jungfernstieg and Neuer Jungfernstieg. He waved and walked towards the hotel as the Mercedes moved off.

Dr Wand sat at a desk in his large room at the Four Seasons. His confidant, Starmberg, the Luxemburger, was seated on a couch, watching his chief. Wand was studying the list of eminent Europeans pencilled in his slim notebook. He took a sadistic pleasure in crossing out one name. Tweed.

`That really was the most excellent news we had from Karl out at Blankenese,' he said, peering at Starmberg over the rims of his pince-nez. The opposition – which was really beginning to make a perfect nuisance of itself – must now be floating down the Elbe.'

`It was clever of you to foresee Westendorf might decide to visit the Holsten V,' Starmberg reminded him, knowing how much his chief appreciated flattery. 'I would never have predicted it myself.'

`Oh, simple psychology, my dear Starmberg. A knowledge of human nature – and the ability to step inside another man's shoes. Westendorf had been cooped up in his villa for weeks, he was an enthusiastic yachtsman. So what would be more natural – after his son had been rescued – than for him to wish to spend a little time in entirely different surroundings? And that reminds me.'

Turning back to his notebook, he carefully drew a line through another name. Westendorf. He took satisfaction from contemplating his list. The first four names deleted. Andover and Delvaux, also. Reports reaching him had informed him Delvaux, a shattered man, had recently been transferred to a clinic. Everything was going so well – in preparation for the vital Denmark operation. He checked his Rolex watch.

`I think, if I may say so, it is probably time we partook of a late dinner in the Grill Room here. And why, may I enquire, are you looking disappointed?'

`I had worked out a foolproof plan for grabbing Paula Grey. It is a very original idea, I had obtained the equipment and taught the team how to use it.'

`Well, well, do not feel your esteemed efforts have been wasted. You may well find you can put into practice your plan. After all,' Wand smiled, 'it is a very long list.'

`Incidentally, why are we staying here instead of out at the villa?'

`Dear me, you know I do dislike being asked questions. But on this occasion I will satisfy your overweening curiosity. I wish to talk to Vulcan, who is staying at this hotel. I thought it safer to do so in the discreet surroundings of this most excellent hotel. Especially when Tweed was alive. Now he is dead… Let us not dwell on the unpleasant side of life. Instead, let us make our way to the Grill Room…'

They used the stairs. Wand avoided elevators whenever he could: he had once been trapped inside an elevator for ten minutes and had never forgotten the experience.

At that moment Newman was mounting the first flight, his hand on the banister rail. Entering the hotel he had seen the backs of Brigadier Burgoyne and Willie Fanshawe walking into the only elevator available at that moment.

He looked up and saw two men descending towards him – Dr Wand on the far side, and Jules, the butler who had opened the door during his visit with Tweed to the villa at Waterloo. A heavy-set man with dark hair, Jules. An ugly customer, Newman thought, but the staring eyes were intelligent. He continued to climb as they walked down towards him. Jules' thick lips tightened and Newman knew he had been recognized.

The Luxemburger continued to walk alongside Wand, leaving little or no space for Newman to pass them. Jules's well-padded shoulder collided with Newman's as they met. He would have toppled the Englishman down the stairs but Newman was expecting some such aggressive act. With his hand gripping the banister firmly to maintain his balance, Newman stiffened his shoulder, took the impact and shoved. Jules staggered against Wand, who stood like a rock.

`You clumsy oaf,' Jules snarled in German.

`You gave me no room to pass,' Newman observed calmly. He looked at Wand. 'This is a five-star hotel. Do you think it wise to bring your pit-bull terrier in here?'

`You…!'

Jules's face was contorted into an expression of manic fury. Wand laid a restraining hand on his arm. He smiled at Newman.

`What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon, Mr Newman. As I believe they say in England, it is a small world. Please excuse any display of unfriendliness on the part of Mr Starmberg. He has been working very hard and has had no sleep for days. Fatigue can upset the balance. Would you be so kind as to accept my humble apologies?'

`Just so long as we don't have a repeat performance…'

On this note Newman continued upstairs. Behind him the two men strolled towards the Grill Room. Starmberg whispered his comment.

`A great pity he didn't go down with the Holsten.'

`Now, now,' Wand chided, 'no need to be vindictive. There were other people in the party which boarded the ship with Tweed and Westendorf, but our Cadillac team wasn't able to see the others clearly. Be content with the evening's work. And now, kindly relax yourself. It would be a pity to spoil a first-rate meal with indigestion…'

Newman was thoughtful as he went on up the stairs. When he had collided with Jules Starmberg his hip had contacted something hard on the Luxemburger's hip under his jacket – something like a sheathed knife. He had also noticed a tell-tale bulge near the shoulder under the jacket. Starmberg was carrying a gun. And he had paused at the top of the first flight, turning in time to see the two men heading for the Grill Room. Was it usual to go to dinner accompanied by your butler? Newman didn't think so.

He was starting the long walk along a wide corridor to his room when a familiar figure came towards him. Willie Fanshawe, swinging his room key. Willie, moving with the agility Newman had often noticed in plump men, hurried forward, beaming with pleasure.

`I say! First Brussels, now Hamburg. Never thought I'd have such luck. The Brigadier's here, too. Which really is why I'm here! He seems to hate travelling without an entourage of friends. But he's a bit tetchy this evening. Rather a trial, you know.' He lowered his booming voice. `Strictly between the two of us, I don't think his business deal is going all that well. Well, I said to him, you can't expect to win 'em all. Didn't like that one little bit. I made myself scarce, made an excuse to leave him alone in his room a few moments ago. Best to let him be on his own when he's in that mood. I should know! Living next door to the blighter. How about a drink? In the Sambri bar off the lobby. They do a generous glass of champers…'

`I'm afraid…'

`And Helen is here, of course,' Willie tumbled on. He dug Newman playfully in the ribs. 'She rather fancies you. I know she'll jump for joy when she hears you're under the same roof. Now, about that drink …'

`Sorry, Willie, but I can't. Not just now. I have to keep an appointment. Maybe later in the evening?'

`Jolly good! You'll find me in the Sambri. Bet I'm three glasses ahead of you. Now don't forget…'

As Willie found all the elevators were in use and headed down the stairs Newman changed his mind. He waited – to give Willie time to settle in the bar – then stepped inside an elevator a couple had just left. It was time to warn Tweed.